


Goodbye and Hello

by rufousnmacska



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Kingdom of Ash, crochan witches, ironteeth witches, the thirteen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:01:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17430812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufousnmacska/pseuds/rufousnmacska
Summary: Manon and Dorian say goodbye in Orynth. But for them, saying hello again is just a matter of time.





	1. I Wish...

Laughter and music filled the great hall as everyone gathered for their final night together. All the armies, all the healers, all the witches planned to leave Orynth tomorrow.

Manon stared at her plate, trying to convince herself to eat what was on it. A round of applause broke out and she looked up to see a crowd gathering at the far end of the room. A group of young witches walked past her, hurrying to join the dancing. As the clapping took on fast tempo, Manon’s attention returned to her food. 

The initial burst of joy that had accompanied the tiny purple flower brought from the Wastes had dissipated over the past weeks. The reality of what it meant slowly settled like a lead weight in her chest. Seeing Ironteeth and Crochan witches looking forward to the future helped to buoy her mood sometimes. But it couldn’t erase the truth that none of them really knew what the future held in the Wastes. And it couldn’t fill the hollowness that continued to grow inside her.

Her eyes flitted across the room, never lingering very long on anyone or anything. The itch to fly was beginning to prickle under her skin. She knew Glennis watched, so Manon ate a few bites, then stood to leave, claiming she had to pack.

It wasn’t a lie exactly, as she did need to gather her things. But she also needed to get out of here. The witches at her table accepted the excuse without so much as a glance, and Manon felt a sharp pang of grief at the thought that the Thirteen would have seen right through it. Asterin would have gone along to make sure she actually did pack, Sorrel and Vesta following close behind.

As she walked through the maze of hallways, she could almost feel Asterin trailing her to the room she’d been sharing with Dorian.

Most nights she ended up in the aerie, but she usually began them here. He never stopped her going, even when she accidentally woke him. She had not mentioned the Thirteen to him, to anyone, since those moments after the final battle. He knew why she was pulled to the balcony to stare across the plain with Abraxos. He’d offered to come with her once, and when she’d hesitated, he’d kissed her forehead and said, “Just ask if you ever change your mind.”

When she opened the door, his scent wrapped around her, and she immediately set to gathering her things. This was going to be hard enough without drawing it out, she might as well get it over with. A humorless laugh escaped her as Manon better understood why Dorian had left without saying goodbye all those weeks ago.

“What’s so funny?”

She whirled to find him closing the door. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed he’d followed her here.

“You should be back in the hall. Enjoying the celebration with your friends,” she said, ignoring his question.

His eyes bore into her, and she almost looked away. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

She went back to stuffing clothing into her bags. She didn’t want to do this. Didn’t know how to do this.

Without a word, Dorian walked over and took the shirt from her hands. Setting it aside, he gently turned her to face him. Manon didn’t think she could look at him, so she stared straight ahead, focusing on the triangle of bare skin where his collar hung open. 

The pale band around his neck called to her, and she brushed her fingers along it. The sound of his heartbeat quickened and she felt the heat rise in his skin. For a moment, she considered not stopping. Considered taking him to bed to distract them both from whatever conversation he seemed intent on having tonight. And what was coming tomorrow.

But the idea seemed like a coward’s way out, and she was not a coward. Even if fear lined most of her thoughts these days. 

She’d admitted her fears to him once before, and he had not judged her. There was no one else left that she trusted this much, no one she’d allow to see her this vulnerable.

As before, he knew what was wrong, at least the shape of it. But instead of confronting her, he’d been quiet and patient and… there. Always there. Nothing more, unless she’d asked. 

Dropping her fingers from his neck, she took a breath and said simply, “I’m afraid.”

Dorian pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. “Of what?” he asked, his hand stroking her back.

His touch felt so good, the pressure easing her tense muscles, and she relaxed into him. “I don’t know how to do this without them.”

The truth had been building in her for days. Confessing part of it lightened the heaviness inside her, just a little. So, she went on. “I don’t know if I ever truly believed we’d go home. Not until recently. And now. To face it without them…” She trailed off. As he squeezed her tighter, she said, “I feel so alone.”

Not once had Manon truly considered a future without all of the Thirteen. A future where they were gone and she was left to carry on. Even the prospect of being queen, a duty she’d now fully assumed, had never altered that image. If they weren’t there, she wouldn’t be either. 

Dorian pulled away, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. “You are not alone, Manon. They can never be replaced. But don’t ever think you’re alone. You have friends and family who care about you.” Moments passed in silence until finally, his voice roughened with emotion, he said, “I care about you.”

He’d said it before. But there was something in the words this time that felt different. A weight that had been lacking. The weight of a promise. 

Manon slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze.

***

The dread of saying goodbye had made Dorian’s heart feel more and more fragile with each passing day. Now, he thought it might actually shatter.

It wasn’t lost on him that Manon couldn’t even say their names. No matter what mask she’d worn in front of the others, he saw the truth of what lay beneath. 

The Thirteen were her family. Her _entire_ family. And they were all gone. Glennis and her Crochan cousins might fill in that void someday, but it would take time. If it happened at all.

In a past life, Dorian would have tried distracting her with pleasurable touches or pretty words. In this life, had she been anyone else, he probably would have done just that. But Manon was not anyone. 

Yet, if he spoke the words he truly wanted to say, whose mind would it ease? Likely not hers, as it would only overwhelm her. But his self control faltered as he felt the pain and sorrow emanating from her, as if his magic could sense it.

“I care about you,” he rasped. With each word, a spark of warm magic flowed from his hands into her. That spark lit something in her, making her eyes glow like flames as they met his.

“What do you want Dorian?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

She’d asked that of him days ago. But this time, it was an entirely different question. The desperation to answer with the truth, with the words he’d kept from her before _\- You, all of you_ \- almost won out. _  
_

Almost.

It would be too much for her right now, he reasoned, an extra burden she didn’t need to carry. Especially with their goodbye growing closer with each minute. 

“I want…” he started, then stopped. If he couldn’t tell her everything, he could at least give her a glimpse into what he felt. 

Dorian took her hand in his, and they both watched as his thumb glided back and forth over her fingers. “I wish we could take off on Abraxos and fly around the world,” he said. “Not as a king and queen. Just a man and a witch. No crowns, no responsibilities.”

Manon’s eyebrow quirked in mild amusement and Dorian took it as a sign to continue. 

“We can go wherever we want. East to Wendlyn, or the fabled lands across the western ocean. North to the frozen wastes, then to the Southern Continent. I can visit libraries and book shops and you…” he paused, thinking. 

A wry, expectant expression crossed her face and he almost laughed.

“You can visit blacksmiths for new and exotic weaponry. When we run out of money for new books and daggers, you can teach girls how to fight while I perform magic tricks and shape shifting for crowds. I will make you breakfast in bed each morning.” He gave her a knowing look. “And you can shut me up each night.”

Manon’s smiles had been given sparingly before the war, yet he’d still come to think of himself as an expert on them. The smile she rewarded him with now, the first he’d seen since they’d reunited, was soft and brief and breathtakingly beautiful.

“I asked what you want, not what you wish,” she admonished with a touch of teasing.

Without thinking, he asked, “Can’t it be both?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “I want whatever you choose to offer.”

Manon closed her eyes, all traces of her smile gone. No doubt she was remembering when she’d first spoken those words to him, on a ship just off the Eyllwe coast. It felt like lifetimes ago, but it had been little more than a few months. 

Or, he realized, perhaps she was thinking of a different offer she’d made more recently, in a tent at the edge of the White Fangs. One he’d abandoned rather than answer. He knew that if he had, if he’d faced the same choice as Gavin, then the keys, the gate, this war… all of it would have ended much differently. He told himself he didn’t regret it, and perhaps he didn’t. But it haunted him nonetheless. 

She said nothing, and turned away again to resume her packing.

Mentally kicking himself, he silently watched her move around the room. She didn’t have much to take with her, and he had no idea what had been done with the Thirteen’s things. It was likely that their weapons and supplies had been redistributed as the siege had dragged on. 

When Manon was done, she stopped at the makeshift bed, little more than a pile of hay covered with blankets. Without looking at him, she said, “I wish we didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

Any remaining will power he had left dissolved in that moment, and Dorian walked to her side. “I wish for that too, witchling. More than anything.” She shifted towards him and he pulled her into a hug. “Whatever happens, you will not be alone.“

The embrace lasted forever and no time at all, until she broke away and took a half step back. Tentatively, not bothering to hide her shaking, she took his hand and placed it over her heart. "You will always be with me.”

Dorian smiled, amazed. He was always amazed by her.

“And you will always be with me.” He clasped her hand against his own heart, another wave of his magic pulsing into her.

***

Promise again laced his words, and the force of it settled within her chest. Just as his touch had done, the soft smile he gave her now seemed to pierce through her sadness.

Manon sat down on the bed, pulling him with her. Curled into his arms, she pressed her ear to his chest and listened to the strong, even rhythm. She’d expected a night of little rest, but instead, Dorian held her tightly, giving her occasional kisses until she fell asleep.

Waking well before the first rays of dawn, she tried not to disturb him when she rose to get dressed. Dorian’s eyes opened the instant she sat up and he watched silently as she began to strap on her sword and daggers.

“Are you planning to sleep in?” She’d meant it to sound light and joking, but it was overshadowed by the farewell they could no longer put off.

“You want me to go up to the aerie with you?” He tossed the blankets aside and stood, quickly throwing on clothes. “I thought you’d want to say goodbye here,” he offered as explanation.

 _I don’t want to say it at all_ , she thought, but said nothing.

A sharp knock on the door announced it was time, and she scanned the room once again before her eyes landed on him. “Ready?”

He opened his mouth, and for a second she thought he might actually say no. Instead, he nervously ran his fingers through his hair and nodded once. When he held his hand out for her, she didn’t hesitate.

They walked slowly to the castle’s uppermost balcony that had been serving as the wyvern aerie. Dorian’s hand was like a vise and Manon wondered whose trembling the tight grip was meant to quell.

When they reached the final door leading them outside, he stopped short and spun her around to face him. “The Ferian Gap.”

It wasn’t a question but he seemed to need an answer, so she said, “Yes.” He relaxed a bit, and she added, “I don’t know how long before I can get away.”

With a tight smile, he cupped her face in his hands. “I know. We can decide on a time later. I just…” He blinked rapidly, but it didn’t lessen the bright sheen of moisture in his eyes.

Manon raised up onto her toes and kissed him. “I know,” she said into his lips. He dropped his arms around her waist and lifted her up against him. Sliding her arms around his neck, she held on as if her life depended on it. Just as he was holding her.

***

Dorian tucked her braid into the fur collar of her cloak and they walked outside to where the others were waiting. As soon as their queen appeared, shouts to prepare for flight rang through the dark, frigid air. 

He stayed with her until she checked all the harnesses on Abraxos, never taking his eyes off her as she climbed up into the saddle. Every nerve in his body wanted to leap up there with her, every ounce of his magic strained to touch her. But he stepped back, just far enough to be outside the reach of Abraxos’s wings.

When she was settled and strapped in, and there were no more excuses to delay, Manon placed her hand on her heart and said, “Goodbye, princeling.”

Dorian touched his own chest and said, “Goodbye, witchling.” He forced himself to give her a lighthearted wink. “For now.”

A twitch of a smile. “For now,” she agreed.

Before he could take another breath, Abraxos was at the drop-off overlooking the city far below. His booming wings flapped once, twice, and then they were airborne. On brooms and wyverns, hundreds of witches took to the sky, a few falling into formation around their queen with the rest streaming behind.

He stayed, watching as the large host grew small on the horizon, where the first rays of morning were breaking over the mountains. The sunlight caught a shining wing that flashed silver, just for an instant. And then, it was gone.

Long after they disappeared and he could no longer stand the cold, Dorian turned and went inside. 

***

Manon felt Dorian’s magic surround her and Abraxos the moment they’d taken off, and she was surprised by how long it stayed with them. Its warmth soothed them as they passed over the blast site that was the focus of their nightly vigils. When the power began to flicker, like a candle being blown out, she glanced over her shoulder, unable to make him out as anything more than a dark figure on the highest balcony. 

And then, it was gone. They’d flown past the reach of his magic. The freezing air bit into her now unshielded skin and Abraxos released a melancholy whine. 

A lifetime of habit had Manon twisting around in her saddle, an order for Asterin already forming on her lips. When unfamiliar witches stared back at her, she said nothing and faced forward again. 

The reminder hit her as it always did, like a physical blow. Like the punch to her gut that had left her behind, and left her alone.

 

To be continued...


	2. Another Day

Giving up on sleep, Manon pulled herself out of bed. With a heavy, wool blanket wrapped around her, she poked at the dying fires in the braziers. The winter moon was still weeks away, but with each night, the temperature dropped.

This would be their first full winter living in the Wastes and she hoped they had enough stores to see them through. If they didn’t, or if something went wrong, there was always Briarcliff.

Upon arriving from Orynth with not much more than the packs they carried, she’d reluctantly accepted Ansel’s offer to use Briarcliff as a base until the weather eased. And so, while the majority of witches stayed in the Western Wastes, scouting parties were sent to Rhiannon Crochan’s ruined city, to do whatever might be done to ready the place for the spring.

Refusing to sit idly by, Manon often led the groups herself, despite protestations from Petrah. She did it to keep herself from dwelling on the memories and what-ifs eating away at her, to keep from giving in to the darkness that always called. 

Unexpectedly, it had the benefit of raising her status in the eyes of the Crochans, some of whom were reverting back to their distrust of the Ironteeth. Without a common enemy to unite them, witches from both clans were falling prey to old grudges. Manon quickly realized that sheltering and feeding thousands of witches might not be the hardest thing she would face as queen.

The food and housing aspects were progressing well at least. Luckily, the ruins hid some relatively undamaged structures, enough to hold the witches who’d come with their families. The rest stayed in tents as they rebuilt. And although they had no prior experience in the Wastes to judge whether their recent harvest would be sufficient, her council was pleased by the crops brought in and the other supplies gathered.

All of their work and planning would soon be put to the test, she thought now, staring out her window as the first rays of dawn filtered through the bands of purple clouds. A heavy layer of frost sparkled as the sun broke over the horizon. 

Rhiannon’s original Queen’s Keep was long gone, but they’d found one building still standing that could take its place for now. Manon eventually gave in to the demands of the council and moved into it. Her rooms were on the top floor, and because the stone Keep sat on a rise, she was able to see well beyond the city walls. After experiencing that view, she’d given up the battle to stay in a tent. 

The true beauty of the Wastes could only be seen from above. Perhaps in gifting this seemingly barren and empty land to the witches, Brannon knew his people would not protest its loss. But with their love for the wind and ability to fly, her ancestors saw what the humans couldn’t: the ocean of rippling grasses that changed from a springtime green to fiery autumn red, the lazy rivers that stretched and curved like snakes sunning themselves, the rocky outcrops that cut through rolling hills like the earth itself was cracked open, the herds of game leaving swaths of bare dirt in their wake, the patchwork of flowers that filled the short, hot summer with their brilliant colors and scents.

Manon loved all of it. It didn’t matter if she was soaring on Abraxos or walking on her own two feet. The Wastes were her home.

And yet, she still felt like something was missing.

For a long time, she’d thought her coven was that something.

But as the months had passed, and the edges of her grief had become a little less sharp with each day, that missing something remained. Diminished, but still there. Always there.

A black shape darted across her peripheral vision and Manon’s heart stopped.

The crow disappeared, only to glide back into view a moment later. It swooped and cawed before finally landing next to a refuse bin in the street below. With quick movements, it hopped into the bin, took a piece of something, tossed it into the air and ate it. Another caw, and more appeared, joining their friend for breakfast.

Definitely just a regular bird.

For a second, she had thought maybe…

But no. There was no reason he would come here. Not with his own kingdom to rebuild. And not when she had ignored all of his letters.

They had planned to meet at the Ferian Gap, without deciding on the timing. Neither knew what truly awaited them, so it was foolish to try and set a date. Waiting until things stabilized made the most sense.

What had not been planned was the unbearable heaviness that greeted her every day. Or the slowly disappearing willpower required to get out of bed on the bad days. The long, empty nights spent staring into the dark.

Manon leaned on Glennis during those bad days. She was the one person who felt like family. The trust she had in her great grandmother grew each day, but there were things she still kept to herself.

Like the guilt of being the one who survived. The untethered feeling of knowing there was no one left who’d known her as a witchling. The irrational anger at seeing her Crochan cousins, in name only, gathered around a fire.

The constant glances over her shoulder expecting to see Asterin following close behind, the rest further back in their usual formation.

The longing to have them here so she could tell them how much they meant to her. Something she felt she hadn’t done when they were alive.

If Dorian had been here, she might have shared this with him. But he wasn’t. And they weren’t things she could convey in writing.

Replying to his first letter would’ve taken no time. Setting it aside for another day, a better day, was so much easier though. When it happened with the next letter, and the next… the stack was eventually placed in a drawer, out of sight.

There were mornings when she woke with the best intentions, a reply already half written in her head. But her attention always seemed to be pulled in other directions.

And then, five months ago, the letters stopped coming.

Since then, each time she thought of him, she tried to remind herself that this way was better. This way, neither of them would be forced to choose between their duties and their desires. A false choice because ultimately, there was only ever one option, for both of them. The only real choice they had was to spare each other more pain.

And if her inaction forced them both to move on, then so be it. This way was less painful than being on the receiving end of that choice.

Sunlight crept across the floor. Manon closed her eyes and inhaled, trying to prepare herself for another day of ruling. Another day spent not thinking about her coven, or the king.

***

Chaol was the only one who noticed the ice spreading out in a circle from where Dorian sat at the head of the table. The yammering nobles wasting their time didn’t have a clue. No surprise, as they were here arguing against letting the Wild Men have representatives at court. Apparently, giving the people of the Fangs the same access to the King that the nobility enjoyed was too much for this group of lords to bear.

Dorian glared sidelong at Chaol. His friend gave him a look back that clearly said this had not been his doing. He knew that, but his annoyance with these men was about to become uncontrollable.

As someone began listing off their grievances, Dorian stood, not bothering to keep his chair from screeching against the floor. Chaol winced, from the sound, and the fury radiating from the King.

“The men and women of the Fangs fought and died for Adarlan. While you hid in your country estates and watched it burn. Nothing you say will change my mind in this matter. Get out.”

The lords’ exhaled breaths were visible in the now freezing air and Dorian forced himself to calm down. Chaol ushered them out as quickly as he could and by the time he returned, Dorian was slumped back in his chair.

“I wouldn’t have let them in if I’d known that’s what they wanted,” Chaol offered as apology. “I’ll be more careful with the next group.”

Dorian waved him off. He knew Chaol was in favor of including the Wild Men in their councils and wouldn’t have given those lords an audience with him if they’d been honest about their intentions. Leaning forward, he propped his head in his hands and rubbed his temples.

He’d never been under any illusions that ruling a kingdom would be easy. After a war, after his father’s reign, he knew it would be much more difficult. But the day to day drudgery and petty politics were beginning to wear him down. 

The door creaked open and they both turned to see a young woman enter. “A message, Your Majesty,” she said, bowing and waiting to be called over.

Even after months of disappointment, a rush of excitement coursed through him. Chaol motioned her forward and all of Dorian’s hope died when he saw that the letter bore the royal stamp of Eyllwe. Thanking her, he waited until Chaol escorted her out before he tossed it over onto his desk. Without a word, he returned to massaging his aching head.

“So, how long do you plan on wallowing like this?” Chaol asked as he leaned back against the long meeting table and crossed his arms.

Dorian ignored him.

“You’re good at it, I’ll give you that. But as your friend, it’s getting rather annoying.” When Dorian didn’t take the bait, he continued, “Or does this qualify as brooding? Your vocabulary was always better than mine.”

He lifted his head and growled, “It’s neither.”

“Obviously,” Chaol said with a wave. “You’re not wallowing or brooding. You didn’t almost leap out of your chair just now, thinking that letter had come from the Wastes. You don’t walk around at night in all kinds of weather. You don’t-“

“Enough,” Dorian said. But his voice had lost all of its earlier bite as the truth of his best friend’s words sank in.

Chaol pulled out a chair next to him and sat. “It’s been ten months-“

“I know how long it’s been.” Down to the day, he knew.

When they’d parted ways in Orynth, he’d worried that the time and distance might weaken his feelings for her. The opposite had occurred. Even Manon’s silence had done nothing to diminish the bond he felt connecting them.

Most days offered plenty of distractions with paperwork, meetings, and visits to war torn villages. Sometimes the drudgery, he’d had to admit, was better than nothing. Nights were a different matter.

Dorian had fallen into the habit of walking around the grounds or on the parapets and imagining her life in the Wastes. Imagining her life with him, in some vague yet happy future that he shouldn’t allow himself to consider. It was the only way he could hope to get any sleep. 

At least he wasn’t having imaginary conversations with her, he thought. At least, not yet.

“Dorian.”

“She never replied. Not once.” He hadn’t told anyone that, but Chaol didn’t seem surprised. “It’s been ten months, as you so helpfully pointed out. Why are you bringing this up now?” Guilty eyes glanced around the room. “What’s going on?”

“First, I just want to say this was not my idea,” Chaol said.

Dorian sighed. “What has Yrene done?”

“She’s been writing to Glennis. For a while.”

“What?” He couldn’t hide the anger and annoyance. The humiliation. It was bad enough that Manon had ignored him. Apparently, it was a popular topic of conversation.

As if reading his mind, Chaol explained. “They were corresponding about the Torre that Yrene wants to start. She’s planning to include Crochan and Ironteeth instructors.”

“Oh. Of course,” he said, kicking himself for jumping to conclusions. “That’s a good idea.”

Chaol nodded, then slid his chair closer. His face, his whole body, was lined with concern. Dorian tensed, not sure what was coming, even as worse case scenarios filled his head.

“Manon isn’t doing well.”

It was a struggle to remain seated and not go to the balcony and shift. He could be there in a few days if he went as a wyvern, if he didn’t stop for rest. But he stayed where he was.

“What do you mean, not well?” A few seconds ago, his worst case scenario involved her no longer caring for him, either due to the distance or because she’d met someone new. To immediately think that and not consider anything else. How selfish could he be?

“Glennis didn’t give any details,” Chaol replied. “But I don’t think it’s hard to figure out. A witch losing her coven…” He didn’t need to elaborate.

“I stopped writing,” Dorian said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief at his own stupidity and stubbornness. Quickly, he rose and spun, looking around the room. “I need to go and…” He trailed off as his eyes landed on the desk overflowing with proclamations and treasury reports and messages from Eyllwe and Terrasen and on and on. All waiting for his attention.

“As it so happens,” Chaol said, a smile forming on his face, “Glennis, Yrene, and I have arranged a meeting at the Ferian Gap.”

Dorian froze, not knowing what to say. Thank you seemed inadequate for the gratitude he felt.

Looking a bit apologetic, Chaol added, “There are actually some things that need to be settled between our kingdoms. Boundaries, trade, the usual. And that small matter of the aerial host you are creating? Orghana reported last week that the wyverns were big enough to begin training. At least, she thinks they are. She’s only ever dealt with ruks.” He shrugged. “So, it’s perfect timing.”

Realizing he hadn’t asked the question, Dorian breathed, “When?”

A grin practically split Chaol’s face in two. “You’ll need to leave in the morning, so I suggest you go pack.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Yrene wanted to. But, I thought that this way, you only have one night to wait, instead of weeks or days.”

Too many emotions thundered through him to speak as Dorian walked around the table and pulled Chaol into a hug. His friend laughed, and offered to thank Yrene for him.

When he stepped away and turned to rush to his chambers, Chaol called after him, his voice grown serious again. “You know her better than any of us. And I can’t imagine what she’s going through. But you can’t fix her.”

He paused at the door, considering everything that had befallen her just in the short time they’d known each other. There was a part of him that knew he couldn’t fix her. But it was overshadowed by the part that knew she wasn’t broken, would never be broken, not even by grief. Dorian left without replying, and went directly to his rooms to pack.

***

“You did what?”

Manon was rarely stunned to silence. But Glennis had just managed it with her announcement that their queen would be meeting with the King of Adarlan in a few days. The witches attending the council meeting didn’t so much as blink, thinking nothing of having Bronwen and Petrah take over for the week Manon would be at the Ferian Gap. Thankfully no one looked at her. The shock would have given away that she’d had no part in this development.

After the others left, Manon regained her composure and cornered Glennis for answers. Only to discover she had planned this with the healer and her husband.

“I am one of your close advisors and I took it upon myself to arrange a meeting with the King-”

“Yes,” she growled. “I understand that part. You wrote to his friends? About me?”

Her great grandmother didn’t back down. “I mentioned you only in the course of discussing Yrene’s plans for a Torre in Rifthold. She wants to allow our healers to teach there.”

“And why was this Ferian Gap thing only brought to my attention now?”

Glennis frowned, staring at her with the bright eyes of a hawk. Eyes Manon had no defense against. “Sit down, granddaughter.” She pulled a chair out and stood by it until Manon gave in and sat.

She didn’t know why she was angry about Yrene and Glennis writing to each other. If it was truly about the Torre, she could understand. But clearly, that was not the only thing they’d discussed. 

Sitting across from her, Glennis said, “I’m not blind, Manon. Nor am I stupid. And my memory works quite well for my age.”

Unsure where this was going, she said, “I wasn’t implying-”

“I was with you two for long enough to see what was going on. Refusing to admit you have feelings for him won’t make them disappear.”

Of course, she thought, releasing an annoyed huff. “I’m not refusing to admit it. But even with your keen eyes and perfect memory, you can agree that it won’t work.” When Glennis had no reply, she stood and turned to leave, certain that would be the end of it.

“Manon.”

The authority in her great grandmother’s voice made her stop and turn around, albeit reluctantly.

“I will agree that it might not be easy. But that is true of all relationships, regardless of titles or distance or whatever else you want to claim is standing in your way. This is not insurmountable. But it might become so if you don’t take  some time now to explore what’s already there.” Glennis walked over to her, a soft smile on her face. “You deserve to be happy.”

Manon opened her mouth to argue that no, she did not deserve it. And what made anyone think Dorian would be the thing to make her happy? A look from Glennis and she closed it, saying nothing.

“At this point, it doesn’t matter,” the crone said, done with arguing. “We need to come to an agreement with Adarlan about our eastern border. And our scouts have said the wyverns at the Ferian Gap will be ready to fly soon. You agreed to train them, so you will be going.”

Fine. It was fine, Manon thought, even as her stomach tightened with anxiety. She would go and work with the Rukhin and their wyverns. She would even meet with Dorian and negotiate for whatever the council wanted. But she would not let herself give in to any feelings she might still harbor for him. 

Before she went, she stared down at Glennis. “I am the queen, you know. It’s my place to give the orders, not take them.”

Glennis gave her a bright smile. “And I am your great grandmother. There are times when that outranks royalty.”

This was why she’d come to trust her. Even if she didn’t like what she heard, even when she flat out disagreed with it, Manon knew Glennis had her best interests at heart. And like the witch’s hawkish stare, Manon had no defense against her smile. 

“When do I leave, great grandmother?” she asked with a faint smile of her own, and a dip of her head. 

“First thing in the morning.” 

For the second time in one evening, Manon was speechless. 

Glennis linked their arms together and walked out the door. “Come. I’ll help you pack.” 

 

 

To be continued…


	3. Those Two Words

Dawn was breaking in streaks of red and pink behind him as Dorian neared the Ferian Gap. The urge to keep going and fly between the imposing peaks of the pass tugged at him. Only the reminder that locating Manon in the vast western skies would be impossible kept him veering towards the platform atop the Omega.

A group of rukhin peered out from a gaping entrance and watched him land. By the time he shifted out of his wyvern form, Orghana was coming out to meet him.

She had not been among the original forces sent by the Khagan to fight Erawan. In fact, a majority of the people now living here had never before left the Tavan Mountains. Stories spread by the warriors who’d fought the Ironteeth made their way quickly through the six clans, and other riders soon asked to come north. Orghana, one of the more experienced rukhin and second to an aerie captain, was selected to lead the contingent and in early spring, Sartaq sent her with ships full of supplies, riders, and ruks.

“We were not expecting you until this evening, Your Majesty,” she said by way of greeting. Her skill lay not only in training warriors. She was fluent in several languages and practiced diplomacy with the manner of a true leader.

Dorian bowed his head. “I’m sorry to impose, Captain.”

She smiled up at him. “No apologies necessary. We were excited to hear that both you and the Queen would be visiting. The wyverns have grown quickly. We eagerly await her instruction.”

As if on cue, high pitched screams echoed from across the gap. The sound was familiar, and yet not. The mature wyverns he was used to made deeper, more guttural noises. More menacing. These were the shrill cries of the young.

“Is the Queen here already?” he asked, looking behind her to the opening into the mountain. It was a struggle to maintain a bored expression and calm tone.

“Not yet. I believe she is due to arrive tomorrow evening.” An upward twitch of her mouth was the only sign she gave that his act had not worked.

For a brief moment, Dorian wondered how much Orghana knew of the situation, and wished he’d thought to ask Chaol.

Within an hour of learning he was to meet with Manon, Dorian packed, left instructions for Chaol and his advisors, thanked Yrene, and said goodbye to Josie, who had already fallen asleep in her father’s arms. Finding out the true extent of their plotting had never occurred to him. Until now.

“I can show you to your room,” she said. “We have yet to look in on our ruks this morning. While we do that, you can get settled. Then breakfast?”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, securing his bags over his shoulder. “After you.”

Dorian followed her into the mountain, taking in all of the improvements as Orghana pointed them out. The entrance hall was huge, cavernous and airy with a high, domed ceiling. Heavy curtains covered all the openings to passages that led deeper into the mountain, providing an extra layer of protection against the weather. Lit braziers were scattered around the space and there was a roaring fire throwing off light and heat. The pit holding the fire had been carved into the rock at the center of the room and was surrounded by heavy wooden benches.

Dorian closed his eyes as the heat reached him. Flying as a wyvern prevented him from feeling the steadily dropping temperatures. But once he’d shifted, the cold air chilled him to the bone.

“I’ve never been in this part before,” he muttered, as she led him down hallways and up stairs. Riders passed by as they headed outside, either too sleepy or too unimpressed to pay him much attention. After so many years of fake court pleasantries and smiling at false words and faces, Dorian enjoyed the lack of formalities.

“These mountains are very much like the Tavans,” she said. “I can see why they wanted to stay. There was a lot to clean up and fix, but we’ve made it into a home.”

Shame nipped at him. He’d not thought to have the place readied for them. With Orghana’s unexpected arrival bringing more people and supplies, he’d let himself become distracted by other matters, and neglected his duty as host to honored guests.

Pulling him from his thoughts, she stopped in front of a newly placed door. “We were instructed to prepare a single room.” Again, that look, as if she knew this whole thing was a sham, even if they would receive help with the wyverns. “But since we were not told how many would be arriving from the Wastes, we have several ready. Will this do?”

A diplomat indeed, he thought as Orghana pushed the door open and stepped aside. Dorian peered into the room.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Perhaps a cot with a table and chair, something like what he’d used for months upon returning to Rifthold. He had certainly not expected this.

It was the Southern Continent in Adarlan. Brightly hued wool tapestries hung from the walls, each depicting mountains and peaks that looked as if they could have been modeled on the Fangs and Ruhnns. The floor was covered with thick rugs, woven into intricate geometric and floral designs. A large bed dominated the space, its ceiling high posts carved with ruks and horses and other animals he couldn’t distinguish. The rest of the furniture was just as ornate, and through a small door he saw the edge of a brightly polished copper basin.

“There are communal baths, but we’ve been outfitting some individual rooms for privacy. It’s piped in from a cistern. No buckets needed,” Orghana said, pride in her voice. “But, it will be cold.”

Of course he’d used a bathing tub with indoor piping before. Still, Dorian was awestruck and knew he must look like a fool. He managed to say, “I can heat it.”

When he said nothing else, she bowed. “I will send someone in an hour. Yes?”

“Yes,” he said, still staring. “Thank you.”

The door clicked shut and Dorian dropped his bags then turned in a circle. Like a child from the country visiting a city for the first time, he walked around wide-eyed, examining the textiles and lacquered wood, touching the satiny layers atop the bed. His dreams to visit Antica had never been realized, and this taste made him want to go even more.

A twinge of jealousy bit into him as he remembered the luxuries he’d once had in Rifthold. He’d always taken it for granted, always assumed that he’d have it forever. But now, after the war and the destruction rained down upon Erilea by Erawan... He was lucky to have what he did. Lucky to even be alive.

The envy quickly faded as he realized how lucky he was to count these people as friends and allies. To know he could call on Sartaq and his siblings at any time for aid. Or just as importantly, advice. To know these rukhin had left their homes and families to settle somewhere new, try something new.

A thought struck him and he inhaled deeply through his nose. The overpowering stench from the last time he’d been here, the smell of hate and cruelty and pain... It was gone. Along with Erawan’s witches and men who were responsible for it. In its place he smelled smoky fires, spiced foods, and floral perfumes.

Stepping out onto the balcony, he watched the sun fall across the snowy crowns of the Ruhnns. He’d lost track of their direction in the passages and hallways. His room faced west, towards the Wastes, even if they weren’t quite visible beyond the mountains.

He’d been wrong to think of the rukhin as guests. They’d _chosen_ to come to Adarlan and were now part of it. These mountains were being transformed into a home, just as Orghana said.

Adarlan had never been a particularly welcoming place, thanks in part to his father. But only in part. He’d played up existing prejudices for his own ends.

Creating a better world was already a guiding principle of Dorian’s reign. But doing it, actually making things better... It was easier said than done. Security and trust were much harder to restore than homes or crops.

Orghana was partly right that this trip was an excuse to see Manon. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get anything else out of it. He wanted to learn all he could from the rukhin, not just out of his own curiosity, but to hopefully become a better leader. That wouldn’t happen if he didn’t know his people.

Dorian wandered back inside and headed to the bathing room. The oblong tub stood almost to his waist, easily large enough to hold more than one person. Smiling to himself, he couldn’t stop the thoughts that flooded his mind. With the turn of a lever, water began to pour into the tub. The force of it sprayed him and he jumped back from the biting cold.

Manon would be here tomorrow. If he was to stay sane, he’d need to keep busy.

Not wanting to reach down into the numbing water, he rested a hand on the outside and heated the basin until it was almost glowing. A bath, breakfast, and then perhaps, a tour.

***

Stars were just becoming visible in the dark purple skies as Manon spotted the landing platform at the Omega. She’d considered bypassing the Ferian Gap completely and going straight to Rifthold. But the risk of missing Dorian on his way here was too great. Besides, that reeked of desperation, and she had enough pride left to keep from donning that scent.

Windows cut into the mountain glowed in the evening light, and she saw figures running out to greet her. The faces staring up at her as she approached were so young, practically children.

Those hellish final hours of battle from almost a year ago were always fresh in her mind. When those same children fought and fell beside her own witches. Had it not been for the relentless arrival of Erawan’s reinforcements, or the fatigue that was as much an enemy as those legions, she would have stopped Abraxos that day to marvel at the rukhin on their mounts.

Even if a part of her was saddened by the fighting they’d had to endure at such young ages, she felt a strange welling of pride and excitement knowing she would have a hand in their training on wyverns. They were fearsome and deadly and disciplined, equal to the best witch covens.

Manon caught herself just before she might look over her shoulder. Before she’d see no one there.

Steeling her face as Abraxos landed, she saw a crowd had gathered, waiting for them. They stayed back, not wanting to get too close. She couldn’t keep a smile off her lips as they stared in awe at Abraxos. When she dismounted, a woman came over from where she’d been standing in the shadows.

She had tightly braided hair, as dark as her flying leathers, and though she was rather small, she radiated an air of authority.

In that middle stage between adolescence and graying hair, Manon was bad at judging the age of humans. The group now happily watching Abraxos preen, the “children”, were easy for her to figure out. This woman though... It was hard to tell in the growing dark, but her face held the lines of someone old enough to have children, perhaps grandchildren. Then again, the sun and weather could age someone as much as time did.

Her scouts had reported the woman’s name was Orghana and she was a force to be reckoned with in the air. Manon liked her already.

“Your Majesty,” she said, bowing.

"Captain Orghana?” When she nodded, Manon dipped her head.

“You are earlier than expected.” A strange smile crossed her face and Manon wondered if she’d caused some offense. As if in answer, Orghana said, “We are very happy to have you here.”

Glennis had not given her much notice for the trip, a flight that would normally take about two days. After a sleepless night and a particularly cranky morning, her great grandmother had ordered her to "just leave”. Manon put up a decent fight, enough to look believable. But when she’d crawled onto Abraxos, Glennis had waved at her, a knowing smile creeping across her face.

One of the riders came over and spoke to his captain in Halha. Orghana translated, and Manon gave the young man, named Altai, permission to take Abraxos inside to a spot they’d prepared for him. When he didn’t move, only gawked at her, she glanced over to the other riders. They wore the same expression, Abraxos forgotten for the moment as they openly stared at her.

Orghana laughed and pushed him on his way. When Manon’s eyes landed on her runt of a wyvern, a pleased and haughty look on this face as he was ushered into the mountain, she sighed. It would take weeks to undo the spoiling Abraxos would receive here.

“When do you expect the King?” she asked mildly, turning back to the captain. With a shorter flight from Rifthold, she assumed he would arrive soon.

The woman’s grin widened, and Manon masked her face to hide the annoyance that had flicked on inside her. There was no threat, no insult, just that infuriating grin.

It reminded her of a Crochan she’d overheard recently talking about her daughter. The witchling had fallen in love with a human boy in Briarcliff, and her mother was practically giddy with excitement. Manon had walked away before her eye roll might insult the witch.

Orghana was wearing an expression quite like that mother. And like Glennis, she realized.

The wind shifted, blowing a frigid gust directly into her face, inundating her with a mixture of smells - birds, wyverns, spices, strange humans.

And one human that was familiar.

Dorian was already here.

Manon turned for the entrance, Orghana calling after her. Over her shoulder, she said, “Thank you. I’ll find him.”

She tried hard not to run, and managed to wait until she got indoors before sprinting down the halls, following his scent. When it led her to a closed door on the uppermost floor, she stopped, frozen.

What was she doing? Showing up after months of ignoring his attempts to reach out to her, thinking she could just barge into his room. What waited for her on the other side? Dorian, happy to see her? That was a fool’s hope.

Out of nowhere, Glennis’s soft voice echoed through her mind. _You deserve to be happy._

She still didn’t believe it, but she could no longer deny the part of her that wanted to.

Manon took a steadying breath, turned the latch and pushed the door open.

It was empty.

Slowly, she walked around the room, only breathing again when she saw bags thrown across a sofa, their contents half hanging out. Something shifted, in the air or in her, and she sensed him approaching.

She turned, and a moment later, Dorian skidded through the open door and stopped.

She scanned him from head to toe and back again. He looked different, and yet, exactly the same. His hair had grown, with dark, silky strands curling around his ears. His shoulders seemed broader, stronger. His eyes had not changed at all.

When Manon settled her roaming gaze on his sapphire eyes, it was as if no time had passed. He was looking at her as he’d done in Orynth. None of the anger she’d feared, no resentment. Only hope.

Choking with emotion, she said, “Hello prince-”

Before she could finish, he was there, cradling her wind chilled face in his warm hands and kissing her. The gentleness of his lips belied his rush to get to her. She lost all sense of her surroundings as her fingers found their way to his hair and she pulled him closer.

When their breath was close to running out, Manon broke the kiss. Laughing, she said, “-ling.”

Dorian rested his forehead on hers and gasped his reply. “Hello witchling.”

Every letter he’d sent began with those two words. She hadn’t realized just how badly she’d needed to hear them. How much she had craved him, the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch. And she hadn’t known she was crying until he brushed away the tears falling down her cheeks.

***

There was no explanation for it. He was deep in the Northern Fang, watching his rukhin guides feed the young wyverns. Cries and growls and gnashing teeth made it difficult to hear anyone speak.

Even so, he heard the boom of wings. The boom he’d wished to hear every night in Rifthold.

Calling out his apologies, Dorian took off, running up flights of twisting, narrow stairs to the main level. Shifting into the largest wyvern he could manage, he made the crossing in a few flaps of his wings. Back at the Omega, he landed, shifted and saw Orghana waiting. In answer to his unasked question, she nodded inside and he took off again.

She was here. Early. What that might mean, he didn’t know. Didn’t allow himself to think more about it as he tore through passages, muttering apologies to each person who had to jump out of his way.

His door was open and he just managed to catch himself on the edge to make the turn.

Manon stood in the middle of the room and immediately, his senses, his world narrowed to only her.

Dorian couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He just stared at her, drinking her in as though he’d never had a drop of water in his life.

Grief and stress had changed her, leaving her face angular, her body slighter, her eyes shadowed with half moons. None of that could dim her extraordinary beauty though. Or the gold of her eyes, shining in the firelight as they brimmed with tears.

There was no room in him for bitterness over her months of silence. He’d let that go before getting here. Only one part of that mattered to him - reminding her she was not alone, and that he still cared.

She had not yet spoken, hadn’t even moved, and for a second, Dorian wondered if this was some sort of dream. Waking from it would be a nightmare.

Blinking away the tears, Manon smiled and opened her mouth to speak.

He didn’t think beyond knowing he had to touch her, had to make sure she was really here, flesh and blood. The moment he held her, kissed her, something deep within righted itself.

For so long, he’d been abuzz with nerves and plagued by an odd sense of imbalance. They’d become so much a part of him that he’d grown oblivious to their presence. Until this moment. When he touched her, kissed her, breathed her in.

Manon quieted the buzz and corrected the balance. Dorian knew it then. Even after months apart, he loved her.

With a breathless laugh, Manon finished her greeting. Those two words, interrupted by their kiss, were like a balm, and Dorian returned them hoping it might have the same effect on her.

“I missed you,” he said, looking deep into her eyes, so there was no mistaking the truth of his feelings.

“And I missed you.”

He had a million questions, a million things he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth to speak, her eyes turned wary and her jaw tightened. She looked like someone waiting to be interrogated.

Dorian closed his mouth, trying not to let his worry show. The feather light touch of her fingers over his lips made his blood heat.

“Later,” she whispered. “We can talk later.”

Where he still held her, he felt the warmth spread through her cheeks, the quickening of her pulse. Manon relished his touch, leaned into it, demanding more. But, that wariness remained in her eyes.

Theirs was a love story in reverse, beginning with the physical and moving to the emotional. The trust to share their bodies had developed quickly, had almost been there from the start. Sharing their hearts required more time. They’d stared down that path before the realities of war clouded their vision. Before he’d left for Morath, and she’d lost everyone close to her.

“Anything you want.”

“Right now, I only want you.” Her voice, deep with desire, held an edge of relief he chose to ignore.

Dorian kissed her again, just a brush of his lips over hers. A sigh of pleasure rose from her and his heart raced in reply. Her eyes never wavered as she pulled him backwards to the bed.

A lock clicked into place after a gust of magic closed the door. Candles flickered to life around the room. And Manon smiled as she started to unbutton his shirt.

“Just you,” she repeated.

“I’m all yours, witchling.”

 

To be continued...

 


	4. Breakfast in Bed

Manon couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept.

On the rare nights when she actually fell asleep, it never lasted long. Dreams kept her from getting any rest. For every nightmare about the battle, she had mundane dreams that left her just as lonely and drained. Visions of the Thirteen yielding, conversations with Asterin or Dorian, or even the sister she’d killed. Memories from when she’d come of age and formed her coven. They plagued her each night.

As she struggled to come wake, Manon wondered exactly how long it had been. A year perhaps? Yes, definitely before the war. Which meant she just had her first full night’s sleep in about a year.

Opening her eyes to a dark room, her mind stumbled in groggy confusion as she tried to recognize her surroundings. A fire flickered from somewhere behind her, and there was a sliver of daylight coming through the curtains. Silky soft sheets caressed her bare skin as she rolled onto her back.

The Ferian Gap.

It was completely remade from the horrible place of valg infested men where she’d once lived. The rukhin were transforming the Omega into more of a home than a military outpost. She started to doze off again, reaching towards the other side of the bed for the warm body on which she’d fallen asleep.

When her fingers met nothing, she stretched further, thinking perhaps the bed was bigger than she’d remembered.

Manon jerked fully awake and sat up. Ignoring the clench in her gut and the rush of her pulse, she scanned the room for Dorian. But like the bed, it was empty.

The bathing room door hung open, showing no signs that he was in there. From where she still sat motionless in gloomy darkness, she couldn’t see any bags or clothing strewn across the furniture, or piled on the floor.

This reaction was irrational and stupid. And it was something she could not control. No matter how she tried to steady her breathing or reason out where he could be or hear above the formless ringing in her ears, her body refused to obey. Frustration wove itself into the fear and she bit her lip, trying to will the first tear from breaking free.

“Manon?”

She twisted towards the door, where Dorian now stood holding a tray piled high with plates and bowls. Strange aromas - spicy, savory, sweet - wafted through the air as he lightly kicked the door closed behind him.

She’d thought he’d left. Not to get them breakfast. But _left_. Gone.

Just the sight of him eased some of the pressure and gnawing ache in her chest. But the damned tears had not disappeared. One fell and she turned away before he could see it.

More tears threatened as she noticed one of his shirts crumpled on the bed, less than a foot away and within easy reach. It had escaped her search moments before. Manon grabbed it and threw it over her head. By the time she looked at him, her eyes were dry.

He still stood by the door, watching her, his brows knit in confusion and his gaze searching her inch by inch, like a flame on her skin. She thought about blaming her state on a nightmare, but she didn’t have the energy to lie.

For whatever reason, Dorian said nothing as he sat the tray on a table. An invisible lash of his magic opened the curtains to a bright sunny day. Squinting against the sudden light, Manon excused herself to the bathing room. 

She saw to her needs quickly and returned to the bedroom. Dorian was rearranging what looked like days’ worth of food, spreading everything out on the table. When she pulled out a chair to sit, he shook his head and ushered her back to the freshly made bed.

“Breakfast in bed. Remember?”

Dorian was back to the table by the time she recalled their goodbye in Orynth, and the life he’d wished for them. Travel, no responsibilities, libraries for him, weapons for her, nights like the one they’d just shared, and yes, breakfast in bed. 

Manon sat cross-legged and watched as he continued with his preparations. His very literal take on ‘breakfast in bed’ seemed silly. And potentially messy. But the sight of so many dishes distracted her from the thought. “How much do you think I eat?” she asked.

He laughed, and she knew from its lilting tone that he would not press her about what he’d walked in on. At least, not yet.

“I know how much you eat, but not what you eat. Or rather, what you like.” He raised a steaming silver kettle high above a mug and began to pour. “One of the cooks in the kitchen showed me how to do this properly,” he said, speaking slowly to concentrate on not spilling.

Most of the black liquid ended up in the mugs and he flashed her a grin that was irresistible. Relenting to his charm, Manon clapped, without too much sarcasm, and was instantly rewarded with an even brighter smile. Dorian brought the tray over and placed it on the top of the bed, then sat carefully across from her.

“I’ve never seen tea like this,” she said, looking down into a mug. Now more of a caramel color, the liquid was swirling with foam.

“That’s because it isn’t tea. It’s kahve. Milk and sugar are used to counter the bitterness.” Quickly, he added, “As I learned yesterday morning when I almost spat it out all over the table. Did I mention that I’ve made a wonderful first impression here?”

Manon laughed quietly, raised the mug, and inhaled. It smelled very good, like nothing she’d had before. Spicy and nutty, with other earthy scents she couldn’t quite place.

“What is your favorite food anyway?” he asked, handing her a napkin and utensils.

After so many years of eating only what was available - whatever game could be caught, the slop served here and then at Morath, travel and war rations - Manon didn’t have an answer. Like sleep, it was difficult to remember the last time she’d had a choice in what she ate. The food they had in the Wastes was nourishing and hearty, but nothing extravagant. Their options were limited by what they’d been able to grow in one season, or acquire through trade, which wasn’t much since they had little to offer in exchange.

“I don’t really know,” she admitted, feeling foolish as soon as the words were out of her mouth. “I don’t cook. Except for what I can catch. Game, fish. And this past year, we didn’t have a lot of variety.”

“Well, it’s good that I brought a little of everything then. Maybe something in here will become your favorite.”

“You made all of this?”

Sheepishly, he said, “No. I made some of it. Most are things imported from the Southern Continent that they keep stocked in the kitchens.” He took the napkin she’d done nothing with and spread it out over her lap, then began naming things as he pointed to each plate.

“Smoked and cured meats. Warning, some are spicy. A few different kinds of cheese. Olives.”

“I know what meat and cheese and olives are”, she said dryly, but Dorian ignored her.

“Dried mango, candied ginger…” He went on, naming a bunch of fruits from the Southern Continent that she’d never heard of. “Nothing fresh unfortunately but that’s the nature of bringing in food from so far away.”

Pointing to a still warm loaf covered in seeds and nuts, he said, “I believe you know what bread is.” Another laugh escaped her lips before she could hold it in. “Porridge,” he continued, lifting the lid off a bowl. “And to make it palatable,” three more containers were uncovered, “honey, orange jam, and yoghurt.”

Before he could tell her that the bowl of almonds did in fact contain almonds, she asked, “And what did you make?”

“Ah! The main course.” There was a large, oval platter in the middle of the tray, its contents hidden by a ceramic lid. With a flourish, he pulled it off and announced, “Eggs with cheese, ham, peppers, and tomatoes. I usually put different vegetables in it but I had to improvise.”

Manon examined the dish, bent over to smell it, then poked it with her fork. “It looks edible.”

“You won’t know until you try it,” he purred.

They had flocks of chickens at the Keep, so she ate eggs often. But unlike her normal breakfast, these were fluffy and light. At least the parts not drenched in melted cheese. Trying to get a little of everything, she gathered the egg concoction onto her fork and took a bite. He watched her like a hawk, waiting for any reaction, any tiny sign of enjoyment. Manon kept her face stonily flat as she chewed. Upon swallowing, she immediately reached for more.

Dorian leaned over and kissed her cheek. With the touch of his lips, she realized she was smiling.

Just as she began sampling the other food, he casually said, “Let’s play a game while we eat. A question for a question.”

Manon froze with her fork midway to her mouth. His eyes held the please he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, speak.

“I already asked one, so it’s your turn. We can’t give yes or no answers, and we each have the right to refuse…” He thought for a moment. “Three questions.”

She finished the jam laden bite of porridge. “Don’t we have to meet the Captain soon?”

“I saw Orghana already. She’s giving us the day to ourselves.” Manon arched a brow, to which Dorian innocently replied, “We got here early and they weren’t prepared for everything yet.”

She reached for her mug. The kahve was still steaming, almost too hot to hold, but she kept it cradled in her hands anyway. Warmth settled through her as she took a few tentative sips. It was good, she decided, savoring the sharp bite that came after the initial sweetness.

Dorian ate while she stalled. As she looked over the tray of food, at all he’d done, she decided she could at least try. He was giving her an out. Three of them, in fact.

“Okay.” Manon finally said, staring at him to gauge how far she could go in her questions. She remembered every single letter from him, every thought and confession. But there were things he hadn’t said that she’d wondered about.

“Now that you know more about your father, how he gave you his name, do you feel differently about him?”

***

Dorian almost choked on his kahve. As he cleared his throat, she watched with a mix of curiosity and apology. And just a hint of _you asked for this_.

“I was expecting something along the lines of ‘what is your favorite color’,” he joked, but she made no move to alter the question. Not that he’d expect her to. So, after some thought, he said, “When I think about him, it is… different than before. In some ways.”

His letters had contained almost everything – what he’d learned from Erawan, how he’d seen his father in the space between worlds, even the one or two details he’d managed to pull from his mother. But it had always been straightforward accounts of what had happened, never anything deeper.  

“Honestly, I still hate him for what he did. All the people he hurt. But…” He’d never admitted this to anyone else, not even Chaol. “But there is love too, for his help in the end. For knowing he’d fought back as much as he could.”

Manon smiled. She had once tried to get him to consider that his father had not been his true self and perhaps didn’t deserve the full brunt of Dorian’s hate. But he’d refused.

“I wasn’t able to see that before,” he acknowledged. “And there are days when I can’t see past the destruction he left behind. When all I can focus on is the bad. But mostly, I pity him.” Manon listened to every word, almost greedily. It made him think this wasn’t just about him and his father. Yes, she wanted to know about that. But it was almost like there was a different question hidden within it. One she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, ask.

“I don’t know who he really was, let alone who he could have become. That’s what I wonder about more than anything. The what-ifs.” After a long pause, he admitted to something else he’d never said out loud. “Sometimes, when I have to make a difficult decision, I imagine what he might have done. The real him, not the valg. I wonder if I could have made him proud.” Shaking his head, he huffed a laugh. “I don’t know if any of that made sense.”

“It did.” Her voice was thoughtful and quiet, her eyes intense and glowing. A moment passed before she shifted her attention back to the food.

“My turn,” he said, giving her his most mischievous grin. Not giving her a chance to protest, he asked, “What is your favorite color?”

This time her laugh was a little louder, a little more joyful. After a few moments, she said, “I’ve never had a reason to think about it.” Manon looked around the room before stopping and fixating on his eyes. “Blue.”

Dorian’s grin softened. “Good answer, witchling.”

“The blue of the sky in the Wastes,” she amended, drinking more kahve. “Sometimes, when the clouds are just right, it looks like the horizon is on fire from the setting sun. There’s a moment right before it disappears, when the sky is a deep blue. But there’s still that tiny bit of sunlight that makes it bright and distinct from the black. It’s impossible to describe, but it’s one of the things I’ve come to love about the Wastes.” She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

He almost said it. Listening to her, watching her face glow at the picture her memory painted of sunsets in the Wastes, he almost said he loved her. But he didn’t.

That lit up joy was a harsh contrast to the sight of her earlier, panicked and gasping for air, tears filling her eyes. He’d told himself she’d just come out of a nightmare. Even though she’d slept deeply the entire night, hardly stirring. Even though when he’d left to get breakfast, she was still fast asleep.

Biting back the words he wanted to say, Dorian replied, “That’s a better answer.”

She smiled and reached for a pastry. “And yours, princeling?”

“I was never able to settle on a single favorite color growing up. It always changed. But, I’ve always been partial to red,” he said, lifting her braid to admire the bright ribbon of fabric securing the end. “And I like gold.” Nodding back to the sofa, the red and gold wyvern of the Havilliard crest stood out on his heavy cloak. “But not that shade.” He leaned over so he was barely an inch from her face. “This gold,” he said, looking into her eyes. “This is my favorite.”

Manon gifted him a soft smile, which he promptly committed to memory.

“My turn,” he said, sitting back and popping a sugared almond into his mouth. “How do you think the rukhin will take to wyverns?”

There was no pause this time as Manon said, matter of factly, “They won’t have any trouble flying once they adjust to the larger size, which won’t take long. But wyverns are different animals. Their dominance hierarchies are more complex than they appear. It’s not just about sex or size. Abraxos is proof of that.”

Dorian suspected the rider had quite a bit of influence over the mount, but he didn’t interrupt. Instead, he watched happily as she grew more animated while describing some of the training she had planned for the coming days. He knew the challenge - not the kahve - was the source of her excitement. Manon would be in her element here, and he couldn’t wait to see it.

***

He was staring at her again. Staring as if he’d never seen her before. Or, as if he wanted to toss the tray of food off the bed and continue where they’d left off last night. Or like he was on the verge of saying something.  

Dorian’s face was usually like an open book to her. Sometimes she could see the writing clearly, other times, it was more like a picture book, only giving away broad strokes of the story. Right now, she knew he wanted to tell her something, but she didn’t know what.

As she reached for a pastry, Dorian picked up one of the larger treats and offered it to her. “Try this one first. I want to see if you like it.”

It was a square of golden dough, with corners pressed together in the middle, a dark filling, and sprinkles of large sugar crystals on top. Manon took it, but didn’t bite into it. “Trying to distract me from my next question?” she teased.

Dorian waved a hand. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”

“Do you enjoy being a king?”

With an uncomfortable laugh, he said, “I’m going to reconsider playing these kinds of games with you in the future.”

The certainty in his voice, that they had a future together, made something in her relax. Manon hadn’t even known the tension was there, until it subsided.

“Yes, and no,” he said.

She waited for more and when he went back to eating, she sat the pastry down. “Answers cannot be yes or no,” she reminded him. He opened his mouth but she held up her hand. “And ‘yes, and no’ is the same thing as a singular yes, or a singular no.”

That grin was back, and Manon had to look away.

She’d told a partial lie earlier. Her favorite color was the blue of his eyes. It was why she loved the evening skies in the Wastes. In that flash of time before darkness, she was always reminded of his eyes. The sight of them now, ablaze with intensity, left Manon feeling utterly defenseless.

“I enjoy helping people. In some ways, I even enjoy that Adarlan is starting over. I wish it wasn’t because of war, but the chance to change things is exciting. It would be so much easier if I could just make proclamations and laws and see them done without the paperwork and meetings and politics.” He let out a heavy sigh. “If I never see another petition asking me to step in between two petty lords arguing over a border, I’d die happy.”

“Hmm. I never took you for a despot,” she mused.

“A benevolent despot,” he corrected. “Now, will you tell me what you think of that pastry?”

The smart ass had made it into a question. Manon huffed a laugh, then took a bite.

Her eyes flashed wide in surprise. “What is this?!”

“You’ve never had chocolate?”

“ _This_ is chocolate?” She ate the rest in one bite and grabbed another. “I’ve had something called chocolate but it didn’t taste like this. I’ve always wondered why people went crazy for it.”

He pushed the plate towards her, separating the chocolate pastries from the others. “They’re all yours,” he said. “I like the poppy seed myself.” Dorian selected one with a black, slightly gooey filling. “Try dipping yours in the kahve.”

She did, closing her eyes in pleasure. The flavors alone were amazing, but mixed together… She’d never tasted anything like it in her life.

“I think we found your favorite food. And drink,” he laughed. “I won’t make you give a verbal answer. This will suffice.”

Catching herself just before she spat out bits of the pastry, Manon started laughing too. He was beaming at her, just as he had when she’d first donned her crown so many months ago.

And just like that, unbidden and unwanted, memories flooded her mind. Images of the Thirteen, that battle, the yielding.

It was too much. Too many emotions coursed through her, twisting up with this sudden empty vulnerability. Manon didn’t know how to react, and before she could control it, her laugh turned into a choked sob. One moment she was actually happy, and the next, she was again forcing back tears.

***

Dorian made himself memorize everything about this moment. Manon, cross-legged on the bed, driving him mad by wearing his shirt, eating and drinking and laughing as if they had no cares in the world. As if they were the only two people alive.

But with no warning, no apparent reason, a shadow seemed to overtake her, and she was on the verge of tears.

He grabbed the tray and put it aside, returning to sit in front of her. “Manon?”

“Ask me when I last laughed,” she whispered shakily, staring down at her empty hands, open and lifeless in her lap.

His heart felt as though it were shattering, and he had no idea what to do. “It’s your turn,” he replied numbly, hating himself for being such a fool. For thinking this stupid breakfast could somehow fix things.

_You can’t fix her._

Chaol’s words came back, almost a taunt in his head.

Cupping her cheek, he wiped away some of the tears before they fell. He knew the answer, but still, he asked, “When?”

“I don’t know,” she said, leaning into his touch. “I can’t remember ever laughing.”

“I’ve heard you laugh,” he said. “It’s my favorite sound.” He let go of her face to hold onto her now trembling hands.

“Some days are okay,” she went on, watching him rub her palms. “I can function, make decisions, force myself to seem normal. And other days, most days, it’s like I’m wading through a fog.” Her shoulder rose in a half-hearted shrug before she curled in on herself. “I must look normal though. No one says anything. No one notices.”

For a split second, Dorian was flung back in time to when he’d been imprisoned by the valg collar. No one had questioned its presence, his behavior. He’d felt so alone, so lost, he’d wished for death.

But Manon had noticed. She had seen the real him hiding within, and for some reason, she’d deemed him worthy of living. Enough to risk her life to try and save his.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “When you didn’t write, I should have known. I should have come.” Instead, godsdamn him, he’d let his doubts and insecurities get the better of him.  

“It’s ok,” she said flatly.

“No, it’s not.”

A shadow flitted across her face, along with that wariness from last night. “I’m tired,” she said, bringing an end to the conversation.

 _You can’t fix her_.

Maybe not, Dorian thought. But he wouldn’t give up on her again.

As she lay down, he reached for a blanket and threw it over them both. Underneath, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered into her ear. “And I won’t let you go.”

He felt a slight nod of her head, the release of a held breath, and within minutes, she was asleep.

***

For the second time today, Manon awoke dazed in a dimly lit room and had to remind herself where she was.

And for the second time ever, she awoke to the presence of a strong, solid body pressed against her back, an arm draped over her waist, and warm, steady breaths caressing her skin where Dorian nuzzled her neck.

The morning they had parted in Orynth had been the first.

Somehow knowing she was awake, he kissed her shoulder. “I’m here, witchling.”

Manon pulled her arm out from under his and took his hand. With their fingers interlaced, she brought it to her chest, forcing him to shift even closer. Then she fell back to sleep.

To be continued…


	5. Waiting

 

Squeezed up against the wall, Dorian tried to get out of the way as the rukhin poured from the dining hall. Breakfast was the one meal he and Manon did not join them for, and it was the one meal for which they filled the hall, eating as a single, enormous group.

Some of the larger wyverns were going to attempt the crossing today and the air was thick with excitement. The chosen riders came out last, beaming with pride as they strode by him. Each one gave him a solemn nod in greeting.

After the hall emptied, Dorian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying not to think about how little time they had left here. He would be leaving the day after tomorrow. Manon as well, depending on how things went today.

After her first inspection of the young wyverns and meetings with the squad leaders selected by Orghana, Manon planned the week out in detail: training runs through the mountains, flight formations, lessons in hand-to-hand aerial combat. Until today, those flights had been easy, incremental steps to strengthen not just the mounts, but their new riders. No one expected that a handful of wyverns would be advanced enough to go up against the deadly currents of the Ferian Gap.

Privately, Manon had confessed her doubts to him. She’d known the rukhin were disciplined and excellent flyers. What she didn’t know was just how quickly wyverns could develop. Abraxos came to her as a full grown adult. In some regards, she was as inexperienced with this as the rukhin.

Though she shared the aerie’s excitement, he felt the tang of nerves emanating from her while they ate this morning. The crossing was dangerous, even with the precautions they were putting in place. Sentinels on ruks and the smaller wyverns would be positioned at intervals along the descent and near the valley floor, ready to assist if anyone needed help. Prudent planning, but no guarantee it would prevent tragedy.

He was just about to go back and check on Manon when she came around the corner.

“You take forever getting ready,” he teased as she stopped to fasten a few straps on her flight leathers.

She smirked. “If I’d taken a bath with you in the room, we’d both still be there.”

He took her fur-lined cloak, draping it over his arm while she adjusted her sword. “That’s probably true,” he admitted with a grin. “You know me so well.”

“I assume you will be joining us then?”

During the days, while she worked with Orghana and the riders, Dorian spent his time meeting with various small groups. Not everyone who moved here from the Tavan Mountains wanted to be part of the aerial legion. Along with the riders came their spouses and families, including, to everyone’s enjoyment, a clan storyteller who’d accompanied her daughter.

There were caretakers to look after the ruks and wyverns, as well as the people. Yisu, an engineer who'd relocated with her young family, was working to improve the water system inside the Omega while her wife Naran tended some of the livestock. Several teachers had made the trip, ensuring the children would continue their studies.

Then there was Qara, the head cook. After proclaiming “The witch needs more meat on her bones,” the tiny, old woman helped Dorian prepare breakfast each morning. The hot, spiced chocolate drink she made for them was currently Manon’s most favorite thing in the world. When she had told Qara that - not necessarily in those words - the woman grinned from ear to ear, shoved a few pastries into their hands, and turned back to her giant stove.

Dorian met one family of weavers who ventured north in search of new sources of wool for their rugs, as well as new buyers. “No middleman this way,” they’d reasoned. With other craftspeople making their homes here - a blacksmith, tanner, potter - the place was practically self-sufficient.

But he never got the impression that they wanted to be closed off in any way. When he’d brought up the possibility of opening the ranks up to Adarlanians, the rukhin were welcoming.

Despite his daily activities, he was surprised by Manon’s question. Everyone would be out for at least part of the event. It was odd that she didn’t expect it of him.

“I am. In fact, I thought I’d help out. You can use another full grown wyvern in the air, in case anything goes wrong.”

Manon looked up at him. Fear lined her eyes and she opened her mouth to say something, but a deep voice echoed down the hallway.

“Wing leader. May I have a moment?”

Dorian turned to see one of the older riders jogging towards them. Erden wasn’t old exactly. No gray salted his hair, but he had a ruggedly handsome face that only came with age. When he reached them, he stared with open admiration at Manon, completely oblivious to Dorian’s presence.

“Is there something you need?” Dorian asked, not masking his annoyance at the interruption.

Erden looked over, his dark eyebrows raised in what could only be surprise. The man truly hadn’t seen him. Dorian almost laughed.

Addressing Manon, Erden said, “Yes, well, I have some questions about the crossing.”

With a clear expression of dismissal, Manon said, “I’ll be right there.”

Erden didn’t need to be told twice. He gave her a sharp bow, ignored Dorian, and returned the way he had come.

Dorian watched him go, not noticing when Manon took her cloak back and swung it over her shoulders.

“Jealous, princeling?”

Turning back, he found her smirking again, all the tension of a moment ago gone. “How can I not be? Half of them are in love with you. And the other half are in love with you.”

The riders all seemed to worship her, looking at Manon as if she was a warrior goddess sent from above. Which, she was, he happily admitted. Beautiful, clever, lethal, immortal. He really couldn’t blame them.

Manon shook her head and started down the hall. When he caught up to her, she said, “You should stay above, on the platform. Orghana will be below with me, so we’ll have plenty of help along the descent.”

Dorian wanted to protest, but he didn’t, telling himself this was her area of expertise. Even though it was a bullshit excuse. And she wouldn’t look at him. Neither said anything more as they made their way outside.

On the platform, Manon stopped to speak to the riders who’d be undertaking the crossing, giving last minute warnings and answering questions. While everyone else would fly across the valley, they would go on foot, taking the narrow bridge that linked the Omega and the Northern Fang. Someone had suggested it to make things more ceremonial, as if the crossing needed more drama.

When everyone dispersed, Manon hopped onto Abraxos and twisted around, an expectant look on her face. For some reason he couldn’t explain, part of him thought she’d just leave him here. But instead, she waited to fly him over to the Northern Fang.

Settling in behind her, Dorian pulled her to his chest. Where his hands rested against her waist, she laced her fingers into them with a vise-like grip. The fear was back. But, he couldn’t see it this time. He felt it. As if his magic was constantly reaching towards her, reading her emotions.

Her reticence to let him take part had nothing to do with his lack of knowledge or flying experience. It had everything to do with the fact that people could die today. It wouldn’t matter that the riders were pulled from a group of volunteers. If things went badly today, she would hold herself responsible. Just as she did with her coven.

“I’ll stay above. Safe and out of the way,” he said.

Her body relaxed at his words. “Thank you.”

And with that, Abraxos leapt into the air.

***

Cheers echoed between the peaks of the gap as the final wyvern swooped up sharply and flew high into the sky. Every crossing had been a success. As the sentinels took off to join their fellow riders for the celebration awaiting them, Manon stayed behind, guiding Abraxos to land on a rocky slope nearby. Her celebration was letting herself breathe normally for the first time all day.

With her eyes closed, she sat and listened to the wind coursing through the pass, concentrating on the rise and fall of Abraxos’s chest.  

As nervous as she had been today, he’d been distant, lifeless. Her wyvern had his own memories of this place to overcome, something she’d considered before leaving the Wastes. Their arrival had been so happy and he’d been so well taken care of, she thought he was fine.

But today was different. Abraxos had conquered the crossing to the sound of her Thirteen and others cheering him on, to the beating wings of his fellow chained wyverns. None of them were here anymore. Narene wasn’t here.

Before her mind could replay memories she didn’t want to see, and before anyone came looking for her, she tugged on the reins. Two flaps of his spider silk wings had them rising into the chilly air.

As he flew up to the Omega, Manon leaned forward and ran her hand over his neck. The wounds he’d received in Orynth had healed to silvery stripes, brighter than the old scars that criss-crossed his body. Now, they shined red in the sunset, rippling with the movement of his muscles, a sickening reminder of how close she’d come to losing him.

Abraxos landed on the edge of the platform, jolting her back to the present. The raucous laughter and smiling faces pierced through her dark mood like a beacon. As she dismounted, she was pulled into the mass of people, and to her surprise, she didn’t flinch away from the contact.

Manon thought back to when she and Abraxos had survived that first flight across the gap. Despite the cheers that sent them over the ledge, despite her undiluted joy at his victory, their post-crossing celebration had been... nothing. Brief applause, most of it mocking, then another dinner of bland mush in the dining hall. Another emotionless performance in the hopes of not attracting her grandmother’s attention.

This, though. The excitement and camaraderie of these humans was infectious. It became clear to her in that moment just how lacking the lives of the Ironteeth were. How lacking her life had been.

Witches were not and never would be _human_. But as she watched the rukhin laugh and tease each other, embrace and kiss, she thought it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if witches adopted a few human traits.

A sudden wish to have her Thirteen by her side and watch their reactions to this happy chaos hit her like a crushing weight. She staggered backwards, away from the crowd as they began to move into the entrance hall.

A warm presence steadied her with a hand on her back. “Are you okay?” Dorian dipped his head to look into her eyes.

Manon didn’t know what he saw there, but she could see the worry in his. With a quick shake of her head, she said, “It’s been a stressful day.” Not a lie but not the whole truth. He knew it, she could tell, but he didn’t prod for more.

Dorian waited for her to say something and she looked backwards to Abraxos. Her wyvern was waiting too, staring off into the distance.

Another memory came to her, unbidden, but more welcome than most.

Abraxos’s first day outside. Unchained, free to walk wherever he chose, free to roll around in a field of wildflowers. He’d never seen the sky before that day. Never felt the wind against his wings. And while she’d railed against his decidedly unbeastly behavior, cursing and looking around to make sure no one witnessed it, inside, her heart had been breaking for the pain he’d endured. For the pleasure he found in peacefully smelling flowers that he’d never known existed.

Facing Dorian again, she said, “I need to see to Abraxos.”

As she turned away, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “You didn’t answer me. Are you okay?” He spoke low so no one else overheard, but there was a hard edge to his voice, a quickening of his pulse. “I care about you, Manon. I...” He trailed off and shook his head. “I’m worried about you.”

“Today has been difficult for him,” she said, still not answering his question. “I want to be the one to stable him tonight. I’ll be back soon.”

Dorian examined the wyvern, his eyes softening in recognition of whatever emotion he saw in Abraxos’s face. She waited for another round of questions, but none came. He kissed her forehead, lingering for a long moment before he released her hand and walked away.

Once he disappeared into the crowd, she returned to Abraxos and led him into a smaller cave entrance set apart from the main hall. The other wyverns were kept in the Northern Fang, their cages large, clean, and warm. The ruks, used to being exposed to all sorts of weather, preferred their nests perched high on the cliffs above the Omega’s platform.

This little cavern, while not made exclusively for Abraxos, was refitted to accommodate him. It seemed his reputation as an alpha warrior had preceded him here, so he was treated accordingly.

Torches lit the entry and lined the curving passage that led back to his quarters. Abraxos lumbered past a freshly butchered goat and curled up on the hay bedding piled high against the back wall of the cave.

Manon knew exactly how he felt, but she refused to leave without trying to get him to eat. Not bothering with her knife, she sliced through the goat with her nails, separating a leg.

“You can sleep as soon as you eat something,” she said, putting the meat right in front of his face. Big, black eyes shone in the torch light, staring back at her without emotion. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” she coaxed. Still no reply, no desire to eat. Sighing, she sat down and leaned against him.

Although she had her own rooms in the keep back home, she often spent part of her nights with him. His aerie was in a nearby tower that was half falling over. It was stable, but just barely. He’d refused to be put with the other wyverns, and the tower overlooked her windows. So even on the nights she didn’t visit him, they could still see each other.

Muffled footsteps sounded from the passage and Manon was surprised to see Orghana walk into the chamber.

“Everyone is asking for you at the aerie.”

The aerie. When she’d lived here, they just referred to it as the entrance hall. It still was the entrance hall in her mind, even after a week. She made a mental note to change that.

“Did the king send you?”

Orghana stroked Abraxos’s snout, eliciting a deep sigh, then sat down next to her. “No. But he did tell me where to find you.”

They sat for a while in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft popping of the flames and Abraxos’s steady breathing. His eyes were closed, but Manon knew by the pattern of his breaths that he was only dozing.

“Why did you come here?” Manon asked. It was something she’d been wondering but never had the nerve to ask. With her impending departure, she let her curiosity got the better of her.

“The riders wanted me to bring you back.” With a hint of exasperation, she added, “I think Erden has it in his head to ask you to dance.”

Manon choked back a laugh.

Orghana sighed. “He is a very good flyer, but sometimes his eyesight is... lacking."

“I think it’s worse than lacking. He might be blind,” Manon said. They both burst out laughing.

Abraxos jerked awake and twisted his head around to glare at them.

“Sorry,” Orghana said. Seeing the uneaten meat, the captain pulled out her knife and sliced a piece from the bone. When she offered it to Abraxos, he took it without hesitation.

It was Manon’s turn to glare at him. “Spoiled worm,” she muttered, unable to stop a smile from creeping onto her face. Orghana fed him the meat, chunk by chunk, until it was gone. When he settled back down, Manon said, “Actually, I meant why did you come to Adarlan?”

The woman stiffened and Manon thought she might not answer. But Orghana said, “I came because Prince Sartaq asked me to.” After a long pause, she added, “And because my husband died two years ago and I wanted to start over somewhere new.

“He was a healer. Not like those at the Torre. He had no magic, just the usual gifts. Compassion. Intelligence. Because of his skill, he was often called to other aeries when they were in need. So when sickness spread through the Berlad aerie, he went immediately that morning.” Orghana smiled faintly. “He told me he’d be home by dinner, but we both knew it wouldn’t be that simple. It was a rare illness and the sick were already being isolated.”

Damn her nosiness. Manon wished she could go back in time and not ask the question. Glancing sideways at Orghana, she thought about offering her condolences and then changing the subject. It would be rude as hell, and she’d hate herself for it, but she didn’t think she had it in her to listen to more. Clenching her fists to keep her hands from shaking, Manon willed Orghana not to continue.

But continue she did. “I received messages from him each day, full of reassurances. He was always so positive. It made him a good healer. The problem was that to a cynic like me, it could sometimes be annoying.” A small laugh escaped the woman’s lips. “He always said... “ She cleared her throat. With a deeper voice to imitate her husband, she went on speaking in Halha. For Manon, she translated: “You are the cloud to my sun. We are lucky the world needs both in order to have balance.”

As quickly as it had come, the levity in Orghana’s face faded. “When two days went by without a message, I knew.”  

Silence returned and Manon didn’t know what to say.

“There were stories that came back to our mountains from the war. I heard of the sacrifice made by your hearth-sisters,” Orghana said quietly, then shook her head in frustration. “No, that’s not the right word. Your coven?”

The world dropped out from under her and Manon felt like she was floating and falling at the same time. Squeezing her eyes shut tight in the hopes of steadying herself, all she saw was white. That white light of their yielding.

Whenever the scene played in her mind, there was always a kernel of awe in her heart. There had never been a witch who yielded anything other than darkness. For that was the source of the power _, the_ Darkness. 

Somehow though, the Darkness, or perhaps their Three-Faced Goddess, had gifted her coven with light. Not only a power used to kill, but to save. The light from their twelve souls had saved the city, their armies, the world.

What had Orghana called them? Hearth-sisters?

In some ways, that was a better word than coven. Witches often referred to each other as sister or cousin, regardless of any actual familial connection. But the words were meant to declare their clan allegiance, their common origins and otherness from humans and fae.

The bond she shared with the Thirteen was that of true sisters. A bond woven into their very souls. _From now until the Darkness claims us_.

Orghana reached over and grasped Manon’s hand. “My heart cries for your loss.”

With those words and that touch, Manon felt a release in her chest and heard herself begin to speak. “I’m always looking for them, waiting for them. As if they will return at any moment, coming back from scouting or training. Every day I wait. And they never come.” A tear slid down her cheek but she didn’t bother to wipe it away. “All of my life, I had them with me. Even when we were sent off on different missions, it was never long before we’d be together.” Looking at Orghana, Manon said, “I have no one left who shared my life. No one who shares my memories.”

The woman squeezed her hand but said nothing. Manon blinked, then brushed her face on her cloak. “I must sound mad,” she offered in apology.

With a sad smile, Orghana said, “You are not mad. It took months for me to stop looking for Oktai to walk through our door. You lost an entire family, Manon. I cannot imagine your pain.”

“Does it ever change?”

Everyone kept telling her it would get better, that time would heal her broken heart. She’d seen it happen to some of the witches who lost loved ones in the war. They mourned, but eventually, moved on.

Objectively, she understood it was possible. Even she’d had moments when the grief no longer felt all consuming. More often than not, she felt stuck, mired in this heavy sorrow that she could only break free of for short bursts of time.

This week, with Dorian and Orghana and all the rukhin, with the wyverns and the routine… It had felt like she could see more clearly, breathe more deeply, move more freely. But today had flooded her with reminders of the things she’d been able to temporarily forget, and she was being dragged back under.

“It has changed for me,” Orghana said. “Things that started as distractions became more real, more meaningful. They became things that I looked forward to. New people entered my life. Not to replace, but to… expand.” She waved a hand. “I’m not sure of the words. I should teach you Halha. We have better words.”

Manon sniffed, the edge of her mouth turning up into a hint of a smile. “Your words are fine. But you’re right. I should learn your language.”

In full captain mode, Orghana nodded in approval, looking like she was already planning the lessons in her head. After a pause, she asked, “Do witches have an afterlife?”

"Yes.”

“And do you believe you will see them there one day?”

“Yes.”

“Even after two years, I still have hard days. They are fewer now. But on those hard days, I remind myself that Oktai is waiting for me.” Orghana smiled and let go of Manon’s hand with a soft, reassuring pat. “He loved listening to peoples’ stories. So I made a vow to bring as many with me as I could. I suppose that is the real reason I came here. Not to run from the past. But to make a future that I can one day share with him.”

Manon heard Asterin’s last words to her. _Live, Manon._

She hadn’t done it, not really. She’d survived. So many days were devoted to just that one thing - survival. And most of the time she’d only barely managed it. Shame welled up inside as she admitted to herself just how badly she’d failed at that final request. Failed not just Asterin and the rest of the Thirteen, but her people. And herself.

“One of my sisters” - Manon tried the word with its new meaning - “liked collecting stories. Her room was always filled with books.” She smiled, thinking of how testy Ghislaine got when anyone interrupted her reading.

Orghana spoke a word in Halha, then said, “Your first lesson. That means story keeper. They preserve our histories and tales and are respected across all the clans.” With a nod in the direction of the aerie, she added, “I’m sure Jullian will be performing tonight. Do witches have such a thing?”

Manon was embarrassed to say no. Ghislaine was truly unique among the Ironteeth. Crochans, however, did have elders who were renowned for their storytelling, though they weren’t given official titles.

As with Orghana’s empathetic touch, her question triggered something in Manon. She began telling this women she’d only known for a few days some of her stories. Terrible stories of battle, mundane stories of everyday life as a witch, even a couple that were humorous. Her early, messy attempts to hunt goats for Abraxos received quite the laugh.

Most weren’t her stories so much as they were the Thirteen’s.

Vesta’s ability to make anyone feel at ease. Sorrel’s quiet, steady wisdom that was always offered at just the right time. The demon twins’ trouble-making that first earned them their nickname. Lin and Imogen’s protectiveness of everyone in the coven. Ghislaine’s lectures on everything from history to wyvern care.

She spoke about how she’d never learned the secret of the shadows’ ability to sneak up on her undetected. And how she’d always watched Thea and Kaya, curious to know what made them look at each other the way they did.

In speaking it, she thought of Dorian, and realized that was no longer something she wondered about.

Manon saved Asterin for last. She didn’t tell Orghana all of her second’s story, just enough to convey what Asterin meant to her. How much she loved and missed her. And how Asterin had changed her life. For the better.

When Manon was done talking, Orghana said, “Thank you for telling me about them. For the rukhin, sharing stories like that is a way to honor your loved ones. It keeps them alive and with you.”

“I’m sorry about your husband,” Manon said. “I’d like to hear more about him sometime.”

Stretching her arms high over her head, Orghana groaned as her back cracked. “I would like that too. But I am hungry. And the others will be looking for us.” She stood and offered a hand. Manon took it and was pulled up.

Abraxos slept soundly, but Manon still went over to say goodnight to him, rubbing the spot between his eyes. There would be plenty of difficult days waiting for them. Borrowing Orghana’s outlook, if she stayed on her current path, she would end up face to face with a pissed off Asterin in the afterlife. Manon truly didn’t want to let that happen.

Leaning down to Abraxos, she whispered a promise to him, to her sisters, and to herself. “From now until the Darkness claims us, we are going to live.”

They started out of the cave. With perfect innocence, Orghana said, “Perhaps it would be nice to also tell your stories to the king. Then you will have more people who share your memories.”

Manon stopped and shook her head. “You’re not as subtle as you think, Captain.”

The woman shrugged. “I’m not familiar with that word. Sut-tell?” Continuing on her way, she called back, “Let’s go, Your Majesty. I’ll distract Erden so you can find your king.”

***

Altai slapped Dorian on the back as the small group surrounding him laughed. Although he’d had lessons in Halha and spoke it rather well, he wasn’t fluent. And he certainly wasn’t fluent in the more colloquial aspects of the language.

He’d learned that the hard way, when Altai had taught him an expression he unwittingly repeated to Qara. To his relief, she immediately turned to Altai, her grandson, and cuffed _him_ on the side of the head instead of Dorian. The young man was now regaling his friends with the tale.

He was smiling and laughing with the rest, but Dorian wasn’t really paying attention. Manon still hadn’t returned.

Where this anxiety was coming from, he didn’t know. He just wanted to see her, to know she was alright. When Orghana had asked after her and then left, something in the woman’s eyes had calmed him enough to keep him from following.

As it became clear that Altai wasn’t going to give them the real ending, Dorian took the opportunity to go into great detail about the phrases Qara unleashed upon her grandson for fooling the king. With the group now focused on teasing Altai, Dorian stepped back and found a quiet spot away from the crowd.

From his seat along the cavern wall, he watched the flames of the bonfire rise high above the edge of the pit.

Until this morning, he thought he’d been making progress in helping Manon. It took some time, but he’d gotten her to talk about her life in the Wastes - Glennis and the other witches, their struggles this past winter, their plans for the coming year.

One topic never came up.

 _More like twelve_ , he thought with a sharp punch of his own grief. The twelve witches he’d considered friends were part of his daily thoughts, and not always in relation to Manon.

They hadn’t been mentioned this week and he never asked, choosing to wait and let her decide when she was ready to talk.

Her expression from that first morning sprang into his mind. After finding her afraid and shaken, Dorian had made sure to wake her each morning before he left to get their breakfast. It hadn’t happened again, and he’d convinced himself it was nothing more than a nightmare. Waking from a bad dream in a new place would cause anyone to react that way. Deep down, he knew there was more to it. But beyond mourning the Thirteen, he had no idea what _it_ even was.

Music began to play and several women stepped down into the pit, drawing everyone’s attention as they started to sing. People gathered closer to the fire, some sitting on the floor and benches, others beginning to dance. Dorian stayed where he was, staring at the dark, cloudless sky outside the aerie. Waiting.

Looking back on this week, back to their goodbye in Orynth, and even further back to that last night together in their tent, he began to see something taking shape. Each puzzle piece was a mistake made. Some were obvious, things he should have noticed at the time. Others were harder to make out, only visible with hindsight, after the puzzle was half done.

Dropping his head into his hands, Dorian scrubbed his fingers through his hair. When he sat back up, Manon was standing in front of him.

“Hello princeling.”

He jumped up, standing so close he had to bend a little to see into her eyes. “Hello witchling.”

The red lining her eyes told him she’d been crying. Seconds ago, he convinced himself that they could no longer ignore whatever walls were standing between them. Her tear-streaked cheeks were the push he needed to say something.

But she was smiling at him. And it was so easy to ignore the walls and the puzzles. What with the music sounding through the aerie, and the light of the fire dancing across her hair, and her smile…

Manon reached up and ran her fingers lightly through his hair, rearranging what he’d just messed up. “I believe our official duties here are done. So, I propose that we spend tomorrow together. Just us. And Abraxos. There’s a meadow on the other side of the gap that I think he’d enjoy seeing again.”  

Before he could reply, and, as if she’d just been reading his mind, Manon added, “I think I’m ready to talk. About them. If you’re willing to listen,”

“Of course,” he said, trying to hide his relief. “Anything you want.”

“In that case…” She bit her lip and glanced behind them. In a shy voice he’d never heard from her, she asked, “Would you dance with me?”

It was the absolute last thing he expected her to say, and he had no way to stop the grin that spread across his face. A grin she mirrored, if to a lesser degree.

“I was just about to ask you that,” he said.

Turning back to the gathering once more, Manon confessed, “I don’t know how. I’ve never danced before.”

The tempo of the music had quickened and the women who’d been singing were now part of small circles of dancers. Everyone joined in, belting out lyrics here and there.

“I’m not familiar with this style of dancing actually,” Dorian said, leaning down to speak into her ear over the loud chorus and clapping. She arched an eyebrow in teasing disbelief. Once, he’d mentioned the dance lessons he suffered through as a boy, overly harsh punishments for very minor rule-breaking. “Sadly, my instructor never strayed from traditional Erilean dances.”

They were already apart from the crowd, but Dorian took her hand and gently led her back into the shadows. Positioning her arm around his waist, he pulled her in close against his chest and cradled her hand between them. They began to move, swaying back and forth.

“How about this, witchling? We’ll start off slow and work our way up to the more advanced steps over time.”

Her reply was the soft, faint smile he loved most. The one she never realized she was making.

As Manon melted against him, Dorian rested his chin on her shoulder and began to turn them in a slow circle. They were hopelessly out of sync with the music, but they ignored it, keeping time with their heartbeats instead.

 

To be continued...


	6. Confessions

The seasons at the Ferian Gap were characterized more by the presence or absence of storms than changes in temperature. Lethal snow squalls signified winter and cloudbursts the summer, with the two separated by brief stints of pleasant and mild weather. Manon and Dorian were visiting at the tail end of fall. In just a week, they’d felt the air grow more frigid, noticed the daylight shorten, and watched the frost cover more ground each morning. The winter storms were fast approaching.

Despite the chill, there were a few sheltered valleys tucked into the steep slopes of the Fangs and Ruhnns, valleys that were still home to meadows and fields with a few late blooms clinging to life. As Manon guided Abraxos to what she’d come to think of as his meadow, she worried that it might be too late to find any flowers for him to enjoy. Luckily, it was one of the protected spots that had been spared a killing frost.

She’d kept it a surprise, but he knew the terrain, quickening his wing beats when she nudged him in its direction. Once he saw it, a few spots of brilliant color scattered among the drying grass, he released a long soft howl. Manon felt Dorian laugh against her back, and when Abraxos landed, they hastily dismounted to avoid being pulled under as he rolled on the ground.

The sun broke through the morning cold enough that they spent the entire day there, watching Abraxos roll and sleep and sigh in his meadow. Her wyvern’s bliss seemed to rub off on Manon. She marveled at it, having never thought it would be something she’d experience. 

Opening up to Dorian about the Thirteen had seemed like an immense obstacle, a thing to force herself to do. Instead, it felt natural and instinctive, and something she should have done before now. Even if “before now”, she wouldn’t have had the words.

The long-worn bandage of grief had been torn free the night before with Orghana. The pain and hesitation remained, but it was noticeably muted. Most of her words had already been spoken aloud. Those that had not - the nightmares, the anger, the guilt – came a little more easily . She’d even given voice to the absolute worst feelings, telling Dorian about the dark nights she wished for nothing more than to rejoin her coven.

Dorian listened, reassured, and added his own insights when he could. His sorrow from losing them made her feel not so alone. He mourned the same witches she did. That he was healing from the loss of Sorscha and his father gave her a much needed boost of hope.

Now, back at their room in the Omega, Manon closed her eyes and rested her head on the edge of the bathtub. The water grew steadily warmer. She’d done little that day, certainly not enough to warrant the sigh she released as the heat penetrated her muscles.

“I was worried that Abraxos would be spoiled here,” she said. “Apparently, I was the one in danger all along.”

Dorian laughed softly. “That was my only goal this week. You didn’t stand a chance.”

They sat at either end of the huge copper tub. Steam rose off the water, filling the room with the scent of the herbs and petals floating on the surface. Instead of candles, Dorian lit the room with his magic. Flames of varying size and color hung suspended in the air. A half empty plate of pastries and a kettle of Qara’s molten chocolate drink were within easy reach.

Water lapped gently against the sides of the tub as Dorian shifted towards her. She kept her eyes closed but couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

“Manon.”

The tone of his voice was serious, no hint of seduction or teasing. Her smile faded, and she opened her eyes to find he’d moved beside her, still face to face. His expression matched his tone and she sat up, unsure of what might be coming.

“There’s something I need to say.”

An inexplicable panic rippled through her and Manon had to force herself to stay seated. With all his attention on her, Dorian noticed. He reached under the water and took her hands in his. Their faint trembling eased in his grip.

“I’ve been thinking about some things lately and…” He trailed off, his eyes unable to meet hers.

Manon’s stomach sank. Either this was very bad, or he was going to tell her something she wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear.

“That night. In the Fangs.” He gave her a heavy, knowing look. “When you asked me to stay.”

That’s putting it mildly, she thought, the tension within her changing but not dissipating.  To him though, she only said, “And you went to Morath. You don’t need to-”

“I do,” he said. “I know you understand what was at stake. And I know you would have done the same thing. You did do the same thing, for your people. But that doesn’t mean that I handled it well. I don’t regret going. But I do regret how I went.”

Manon was silent. She had nothing to add. He was right. She would have, would still, sacrifice herself, or her desires, if it meant a chance to save her people. She couldn’t even argue that he’d gone in ill-prepared. Learning how to shape shift, picking up details about Morath from anyone who’d been there, training with Sorrel and the rest of the Thirteen, perfecting his magic… He’d done it all to get the last wyrd key.

And he’d been successful. What more was there to say?

“Looking back on it, I realize how selfish it was. Hiding my plans from you. Pushing you to admit you cared about me.” There was a long pause before he said, “Leaving without saying goodbye. I’m sorry, Manon.”

Again, she said nothing, just stared at him. There were no lies or ulterior motives visible on his face. He was an open book, laid out bare before her, easy to read.

When she’d discovered him with Kaltain, discussing how he might infiltrate Morath, she’d only allowed her anger to come to the fore. Letting him see how she really felt hadn’t been an option. The anger masked the hurt and betrayal, the foolishness she felt for thinking he’d never lie to her. Maybe he had seen it that night though. For as much as he was an open book to her, she was never very good at hiding her feelings from him.

A shiver ran through her and she realized the water was getting cold, a sign of how long she’d been sitting there without speaking. Immediately, a rush of warmth pulsed through it as Dorian reheated it with his magic.

“Why?” she asked. “Why do all that and then leave? Why keep it from me? I didn’t want you to go, and I had my own responsibilities. But if you’d asked me, I could have helped somehow.”

The anger she felt this time was not covering anything else up and it was a relief to release. As if these thoughts had been slowly boiling inside her, always churning under the surface. With the lid now open, they poured out of her.

“Instead, you let me think you’d given up your search. You let me think that if I asked-” She stopped short and took a shaky breath. With barely restrained emotion, she growled, “If I asked you to stay, there was a chance you would. You let me think you’d said yes.”

Dorian flinched at her words. Offering no excuse, no argument, he said, “I know. And I’m sorry.”

“Why?” she repeated, her voice choked and raw. The fire of moments ago was gone, leaving a numb ache.

“Because I wanted to stay. I wanted to say yes. Because if you had gone with me, and something happened to you…” Dorian exhaled, his breath pooling in the now freezing air. The magical flames flickered as if blown by a real breeze. “I knew that if I’d said goodbye to you that morning, I wouldn’t have been strong enough to leave.”

“You were afraid.”

“Yes,” he said with a humorless laugh. “I was terrified. Not just about going to Morath. I was afraid of how I felt about you, Manon. If you’d gone with me and I was faced with a choice between saving your life or the rest of Erilea…”

“You would have chosen Erilea,” she answered for him.

He shook his head slightly. “I wasn’t so sure of that. But I was sure that I was done running. From my country, my responsibilities.” He smiled dryly. “My intentions may have been noble and kingly. The execution was anything but. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

Manon didn’t know how to reply to that. He was still holding her hands, squeezing them with a fierce intensity that matched his eyes. Everything he said was the truth. She knew it because as before, if their roles had been reversed, she would have felt the same way, done the same things.

Hadn’t she already? Her sadness and grief kept her from replying to his letters, along with her duties as queen. But there was a deeper fear hidden under the sorrow that kept her from reaching out to him. One she’d never understood, had never truly been confronted with, until that day in Orynth when her sisters were no more. One she absolutely refused to think about right now.

Instead, she replayed that night over and over in her head. How he’d been surprised by her offer, how he’d made the excuse that she would never be happy in that kind of arrangement. Now, she could clearly see that the excuse had served to make his leaving easier not just on her, but him as well.

***

Dorian watched her consider everything, patient and quiet. At least, he was that way on the outside. Inside he was roiling with so many emotions he might explode.

He’d been an idiot. Childish and arrogant when he’d made her admit to having feelings for him. In any other circumstance, one in which he wasn’t leaving to possibly sacrifice his life, it might not have been a problem. He would have reveled in the knowledge that this witch cared for him. A part of him had. But he’d already made the choice of duty over desire by then. Which made his actions all the more selfish.

Distractedly, he thought about Morath. About how he’d pushed Manon and her confession, her proposal, into the farthest reaches of his mind. Not only to keep him from turning back, but to keep Maeve from realizing her importance to him.

The valg queen had suspected. Which proved to be lucky for him. His lapse in control when she’d offered herself to Erawan in Manon’s form had been dismissed by Maeve. Dorian still didn’t know how he’d managed to keep a lid on his rage and magic in that moment. Obtaining the final wyrd key had been the only thing keeping him sane in those days and nights in the hell of Morath.

Now, he continued to watch Manon. She had pulled her legs up to rest her arms and chin on her knees. There was none of the lethal killer visible. No bloodthirsty witch, no powerful queen. Only a person he loved and had hurt, trying to decide if she would forgive him. He kept the water warm and would do so until their skin turned wrinkled and soggy.

But he didn’t have to wait that long.

Her eyes flicked up at him and Manon finally spoke. “You could have left a note.”

Her voice was soft, but Dorian didn’t dare let himself think she had accepted his apology. Until she shifted and began to move towards him.

Watching her warily, he released a breath as she wrapped her arms around his neck and moved into his lap. The water barely rippled, so smooth were her movements.

“I didn’t have any paper or ink,” he said, sliding his arms around her waist.

“And what’s the point of having raw magic if you can’t conjure those things?”

“That’s not how it works,” he replied, trying not to let her position atop him become a distraction. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Manon tilted her head and smiled. “Perhaps.” She shifted again, this time locking her legs around his torso. Ducking her head, she ran her tongue up the side of his neck to nibble on his earlobe.

Dorian moaned, then whispered roughly in her ear, “I want to hear you say it.”

She sat upright to look into his eyes. “I accept your apology.”

Something deep inside him eased at her words, at the light in her eyes. Manon took his face in her hands, leaned forward, and kissed him.

He was perilously close to losing his mind as they kissed. Vaguely, he had a thought that the bathtub wasn’t the best place for this. It had been fine for some of their couplings over the past week. But not tonight. Not on their last night together.

Dorian pushed himself off the side of the metal tub. With her legs still around him, her lips still on his, he tried to stand. He broke their kiss to mumble, “Hold on.” Manon laughed quietly in his ear as she tightened her grip with both her arms and legs.

Easing his way up slowly so he didn’t fall and kill them both, Dorian stood and sat on the edge of the basin, then swung his feet around to stand. With his magic, he wicked away the water from their bodies and hair, earning an impressed hum from Manon.

“I still think you could have magicked a paper and pen,” she teased before returning to their kiss.

Carrying her to the bed, Dorian made some noise of agreement. He really couldn’t create things from thin air, but he had no desire to argue with her. His desire was focused elsewhere.

She hadn’t loosened her hold on him, so with each step, she moved against him. Each touch threatened to overwhelm him, but he managed to get them to the bed. Laying her down, invisible hands pulled her arms up over her head, stretching her out before him, while his real fingers joined his tongue and began to explore.

Manon writhed beneath him as he moved away from her mouth and traveled slowly down her body. She pushed lightly against his hold on her hands, annoyed that she couldn’t touch him. Dorian looked up from where he was lazily kissing her inner thigh and gave her a warning glance. When she bared her iron teeth at him, he grinned and began teasing her with the tip of his tongue.

Her breathy moans were almost enough to send him over the edge. When he added his fingers to the spot he was kissing, she came almost immediately. Reluctantly, he left his place between her legs and looked at her. The sight of her golden eyes glazed over, her chest rising and falling as she gasped for breath, her hair tangled under her head… Dorian had intended to draw this out, but he had little willpower when it came to her.

Lifting her hips up, he positioned himself above her, teasing her entrance until she was moaning again. When the fog of her pleasure had faded and her eyes were focused clearly on him, Dorian eased into her, lowering himself to press completely against her body. Craving her touch, he released her hands. They quickly found his hair, then his back, then lower, as she pulled him against her, rocking her hips in time with his.

Feeling the sharp points of her teeth graze his neck, Dorian groaned her name, encouraging her to keep going. With a swift movement, she scored his skin and licked at the slow trickle of blood. As she began to drink from the slight wound, he felt her muscles tense and clench around him. Breaking the seal on his skin, Manon threw her head back as she came again.

She’d admitted to him this week that she’d never tasted a human like him before. His blood lacked the watery fear and weakness of the others. Dorian played it off as a result of his raw magic, but she’d said no. While she could taste his power, there was a charge that had nothing to do with magic. His flavor was utterly unique. And one she now craved.

The thought, combined with the movements of her hips and her hands and her tongue and her everything, sent him falling over the edge with her.

***

As she watched him begin to doze off, Dorian’s apology and confession replayed through Manon’s mind.

Like a fan to a flame, his words seemed to kindle her emotions, enhancing what was already there and bringing life to new ones she couldn’t yet describe. One thing he’d said kept resurfacing in her thoughts.

“You really wanted to say yes?” she asked, so quietly, she thought maybe he wouldn’t hear her.

But his eyes, with their thick, black lashes, slowly opened. She was only beginning to keep track of the changing shades of blue revealed by different lighting. Right now, they were a deep gray-blue, made darker by desire, not just the low candlelight.

“So much that it scared me.”

Manon nodded faintly in understanding, knowing there was no insult or slight in his reply.

He took her hand, tracing her fingers with his own. “I was young when my mother began to plan for my marriage. She loved flaunting daughters of nobles around in front of me. And vice versa,” he added with a sigh.

“That sounds pleasant.” He laughed in agreement, continuing to play with her hand. The feather light touch of his fingers was beginning to drive her to distraction.

“The short story is, I’ve had a long time to think about what kind of woman I’d want to marry.” Hesitation crossed his face as he eyed her. “I wanted to marry someone who was my equal,” he finally said. “Not a woman who was only interested in the crown or the riches. And not someone who saw only the fairy tale and not me.”

“That seems reasonable,” she said.

“You’d think so,” he said. “My mother disagreed. And maybe she was right in a way. It’s obvious now that I was limiting myself in one crucial way.”

She knew few details about his healer turned spy, but she imagined the woman met all of those requirements.

“I never thought I’d find those things with a witch,” he said.

Something tightened in her gut. “What about Sorscha?” she heard herself ask.

Sadness flickered in his eyes. But just sadness. Before, in those weeks spent searching for the Crochans, she’d seen the guilt creep over his face sometimes when he’d look at her. It had taken her a while to figure out what caused it. Even after realizing it was because of the healer, she ignored it. Or, tried to. There were times when an inexplicable hurt filled her upon seeing it.

There was no guilt now. In fact, there hadn’t been this entire week.

“She is gone,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I loved her and I still miss her. But…” He smiled. “But I think there may have been a bit of a fairy tale quality to it. On both our parts. It was no less real. Just naive.”

“And I’m less breakable.” Her intent was to lighten the moment, but she regretted the words the moment they left her lips.

“No, “ he said. “You see me. You have seen me since the moment we met. The good and the bad. And you’ve never once judged me.”

She found herself nodding again. Yes, they challenged each other, disagreed and argued. But there was always a sense of acceptance underlying it all.

A sudden shyness overtook Dorian, an expression she had never witnessed on him before. Looking at her through those long lashes, he smiled and said, “I haven’t been with anyone else since I met you. There’s no one else I want. Only you, Manon. I’m not saying we should get married, and I don’t expect you to feel the same or say anything back-”

She pressed her fingers against his lips, and he stopped talking, his eyes turning wary.

“There’s been no one else for me either, and there won’t be,” Manon said. “Only you.”

He smiled against her fingertips then kissed them, relief radiating from him like heat. “We leave tomorrow, and the only way I will be able to get through saying goodbye is if you promise to write.”

Manon feigned an annoyed sigh and tried to think of an acceptable excuse. She was not a letter writer. No matter who it was to. But no excuse came. Dorian watched her struggle and bit back a laugh. 

“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You will be inundated with boring letters about grain storage and building construction and all the other things that fill my days.”

His eyes glimmered. “I can’t wait.”

 

***

Manon threw her bags on the floor and fell onto her bed. The flight home had been uneventful but tiring. She’d ignored all the witches who’d approached her when she entered the keep, stopping only briefly to hug Glennis and tell her she’d be back to official business tomorrow. Her great-grandmother had squeezed her tightly, a smile on her face and eyes bright.

In the quiet and darkness of her room, Manon realized how much she had missed the crone. Next time, perhaps she would take Glennis with her.

A burst of cold air blew through her shabby window and Manon sat up. The breeze carried a scent she recognized. Looking around, she noticed a small wooden box sitting next to her bed. 

As she opened it, other scents, these much more familiar, filled the air.

The first thing she saw was a folded piece of paper that had _Read me first_ written on it. Smiling, she opened it. 

_Dear witchling,_

_To ensure you keep your promise to write, I’ve enclosed some paper and envelopes. They are already addressed and the headings have been written, so most of the work has been done for you. All you need to do is fill in the blank part of the page. You can write, draw, scribble. I don’t care. Just as long as you reply, I will be pleased.  
_

_I asked Qara to spare a few pastries as well. You will find them under the stationery. I can only hope Altai has delivered this quickly enough that they are still edible. Included is her recipe for the chocolate pastry. You should know. She does not give out her recipes to just anyone. And only after I told her it was for you did she relent. If you cannot find someone there to replicate it, Qara said to send for her.  
_

_I miss you already. And already I am counting the days until our next meeting.  
_

_Always yours,_

_Dorian_

Underneath was a stack of envelopes addressed to the King of Adarlan. Each piece of paper bore his writing. _To my dearest princeling_.

Manon laughed and sat it all aside. As she ate one of the pastries, careful not to get chocolate on the stationery, she wondered when he’d arranged for all of this to be sent. Making her agree to write must have been his plan for a long time. 

She wished there was something she could send him, a memento or gift that would hold special meaning. She didn’t need to glance around her room to know there was nothing there that would do.

But then…

A thought came to her. One that simultaneously filled her with excitement and dread. Something he would love and treasure. But something she would need to return to Blackbeak Keep to obtain. 

Maybe this was a sign, she thought, licking her fingers clean. She didn’t know what she’d find there, but she needed to go. Needed to gather what might remain of her Thirteen, and what might help her new kingdom grow. 

 

 

 To be continued…


End file.
